Summer of My Smiles
by Brook N. Promise
Summary: So I need a test audience for this fic because I've kinda put my heart and soul into it. So I'm posting chapter one here so I can get feedback. Should I continue? Should I do a rewrite? (mind you, I've already done three.) I'm self conscious about my OC and whether or not she fits. This story is in its Alpha stages so there may be errors. (btw, I need a beta) WINCEST
1. Chapter 1

_"I've always felt that distant train whistles heard in the dead of night are the universe's way of letting us know the best days are neither ahead nor behind us...they're happening right now, cradled in the palms of our hands. But that doesn't change the fact that the whiskey, weed, and romance eventually runs out and the night will soon turn to day."-__Dave Matthes; Sleepeth Not, the Bastard_

**Chapter 1: You Can't Carry it With You**

_The first step to fixing a problem..._

June 2nd, 1999

Receding rays of sunlight reflect off of the rippling surface of the water, making the horizon sparkle and glitter with the last dregs of day. Low-tide comes in, the waves slow and calm as the moon rises to push and pull them with an unseen hand and an imperceptible softness, still more powerful than the human mind can even imagine. The air cools, becoming warm and inviting, the stars wink to life in the sky, and the thrum of nightlife starts up with a quiet shift of motion that only the moon notices. Warm sand curls under Sam's toes as he wiggles them in silent delight.

This is the moment he falls in love with the California coast.

He folds his overly long limbs around himself, and tilts his head up to look at the sky. The few stars that can be seen flicker with cosmic life and he stares, unblinking, at them until they don't look like stars anymore, just little pieces of light hanging in their indigo backdrop. The quiet padding of another's footsteps cause him to turn his eyes away until he's looking at another pair of stars. These ones are green, and shine brighter than even the sun, gleaming with life and love and a fierceness that takes Sam's breath away. His brother comes closer until they're touching shoulders with each other.

Their eyes hold, the same way they always do, the same way Sam hopes they always will. The closeness makes his stomach leap with a feeling he hasn't the courage to put words to. Dean is so close. Sam closes his eyes, shutting out the green stars. The ocean plays a calming, romantic tune as the warmth settles all around. He opens them again and Dean has looked away, green stars focussed, instead on the rolling waves. Sam knows this could be the perfect moment; just like he knows it won't be.

"Dad woke up," Dean says; and the moment ends, his brother's gruff voice shattering the perfect silence just like Sam knew it would, "just a few hours ago, according to the doctors. We'll go down to see him in the morning. Figure, he'll survive the night without us. It's pretty late, anyway, I'm too tired to drive anymore and I thought we could settle in, ya know. Order some pizza, drink some beers. I won't tell dad if you won't."

Dean grins at him and winks. Sam is powerless but to smile back. That grin stabilizes him, brings him back from the stars and the moon and the ocean. He knocks his shoulder gently into Deans and rolls his eyes affectionately.

"Alright," he agrees, "but if he finds out, I'm throwin' your ass under the bus." Dean snorts and shoves Sam enough that his little brother loses his balance. Sam scowls, then smiles and voices his concern, "you sure you don't want to go visit him? The hospital isn't that far away."

"Nah," Dean shrugs. "All he'll do is bitch about bein' in the hospital before the drugs make him too tired to complain and then he'll get all weird and loopy which'll be uncomfortable for everyone involved. Eventually, he'll just fall asleep again and trust me, Sammy, I can put all that off for another few hours."

Sam laughs and concedes the point. Morphine has always made his dad a little...silly, for lack of a better adjective. And John Winchester and silliness are simply two things that don't mix well. Suddenly, Sam is grateful for Dean's decision to put off their inevitable visit. He isn't so sure he's ready to face a doped up Dad either. At least, not tonight.

"I like it here," Sam finally says, changing the subject. He looks back out at the ocean, but the magical feeling from before is replaced by the awareness of Dean's proximity to himself. Dean's always had a way of overpowering everything else. Sam smiles and looks over at his brother to see a small smile reflected back at him.

"Me too," Dean says.

Sam is only moderately surprised at the answer. He must do a good job of not showing it because Dean just continues to stare out at the ocean. But that doesn't stop Sam from considering him. Usually, the answer to such a sentiment from him would be, "yeah, well don't get used to it, Sammy," or, "it's just a buncha sand and water, Sam," but not this time. This time Dean had agreed.

Sam doesn't know how to deal with the implications of that or, even, what it implies. So he accepts it and the calm ocean night settles around them. Sam uses the quiet moment to look his fill of his brother. These moments are rare and Sam almost never gets a chance to look without being called out or having questioning looks thrown back at him. Dean, however, seems to be absorbed in the ocean, much as Sam had been a few minutes ago. Sam is grateful for it, because it allows him these few quiet seconds where Dean is for his eyes, and his eyes alone.

He lets himself admire his brother, in all his beauty. His strong jaw and hardened muscles, the smattering of freckles across his nose, all piecing together the beautiful picture that is Dean Winchester. Then, those green stars that pierce the soul and shatter any disillusioned mind. His brother is a work of art, and Sam's definitive proof that some higher power must exist. Man was not meant to be so beautiful. His heart aches with indefinable pain at knowing this is all he will ever get of Dean; a few stolen glances and silent moments, nothing more.

_He's your brother._

The admiration turns to sickness, but he can't look away from Dean. It's a form of punishment, he feels, looking at what he can never have. He adores Dean so much, it scares him. There's a panic attack there, right underneath the surface of his skin. Anger and disgust and sadness and hard, aching love, all mixed together to bring about Sam's demise. His fight or flight instinct rises up in the back of his throat and he feels his heart begin to pound as his body wars with idea of either lashing out or running for the hills. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath and doesn't move because he knows that if he does, he'll fall apart, bones and all.

"So, you wanna head back?" Dean breaks the silence. The suggestion quiets Sam's roaring emotions and he takes another breath, keeping his eyes closed until he's sure he can move again.

"Huh?" Sam coughs, opening his eyes, dazed and embarrassed. "Oh, uh, yeah, sure."

"You okay Sammy?" Dean grins and, once again, it centers Sam and calms him. They start walking back toward their rental and Sam nods. He tries not to notice the way his hands shake as he unfolds his arms.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just, uh, tired, I guess. It was a long drive down from Baker," Sam excuses.

"Yeah, well Dad wanted us by the ocean since we'll be here awhile. It's summer. I know you don't think so, Sammy, but Dad cares."

"I know he does," Sam sighs. "I just wish it didn't take getting mauled by ghoul for him to show it."

Dean, apparently, can't argue with that and they continue their walk back to the rental in silence. As promised, once they get there, they order pizza and crack open a couple of beers. Dean turns on the T.V. to some bad horror movie while Sam deals with the still, not quite tame, emotions rolling through him, still feeling shaky (though, lately, it seems as though "shaky" is his perpetual state.) It's easier, though, now; sitting in front of T.V., with a beer to fortify his nerves and calm him. There is no indigo sky painted above them like the backdrop of a romance novel, no quiet ocean to match the rhythm of their beating hearts. Just this, a quiet night by the T.V. with some pizza and beer, feeling like family, feeling like brothers.

It's actually a nice change for Sam. The last few days have been filled with frayed emotions. This is the first time, all week, that he's not been seconds from flying off the handle. On the drive down here from Baker, there were moments where he wasn't sure if he wanted to run, hide, or shove Dean up against the nearest hard surface and kiss him, stupid. The last, of course, being the most worrying for Sam. It's been days of keeping his untoward emotions at bay and he's glad for the change in pace. He happily occupies his end of the couch, across from Dean, feet stretched so they're just barely touching Dean's thigh.

"So how long do you think dad's gonna be on bed rest?" Sam asks as the cheesy horror movie they're watching cuts to commercial. A brightly colored _Summer's Eve_ ad flashes on the screen, the femininity of it making Dean avert his eyes to look at his brother.

"I dunno," Dean huffs, "four, five weeks?"

"He punctured a lung," Sam reminds his brother.

"Why'd you ask me, then? I don't know, Sam, I'm not a doctor."

"I say, at least a month," Sam wagers. Dean changes his tone and looks at Sam, eyebrow raised in interest.

"You willin' to put money on that?"

"I don't have any money, I'm sixteen."

"Oh shut up, you know what I mean. What're you willing to bet on it?"

"Hmm," Sam ponders. It's a thing to consider. Winchesters are men of their word. Whatever Sam wagers has to be worth their time. It has to be good enough that winning will be sweet victory and lousy enough that losing will be a real blow. He chooses his next words carefully, wanting to impress his older brother.

"Fine, place your bet first, though. I say a month and a half." Sam casts his brother a challenging look, the one that always gets Dean riled up.

"I say," Dean hesitates just the slightest bit, "two and half months." Sam raises his eyebrow at the risk, but nods, all business.

"Okay," Sam concurs, "now, if I win, you have to drive me around wherever I want while we're here. No ifs ands or buts. I mean it, Dean, if I want to go the library, you have to take me and the minute I'm ready to leave, we leave. I don't care how many hot librarians you see." Dean huffs and rolls his eyes but nods in acquiescence. "If I lose...I'll do anything you ask, be your chore monkey for the rest of the summer. I'll wash the Impala, do your laundry, anything you want me to do will be done with no arguing and no complaints. However, once the bet ends, I have full complaining rights for a month."

"Whatever I want?" Dean asks, a look of disbelief on his face.

"_Anything_," Sam assures.

For a second, Sam thinks he sees something dark flash in Dean's eyes but dismisses it when Dean grins that stupid grin. He holds his hand out to shake but Sam tuts and holds up his carving knife. Dean frowns and rolls his eyes but relents. He takes the knife and runs it lightly across the palm of his left hand until blood wells up to surface. He gives the knife to Sam who does the same to his right. They shake, deal sealed in blood, both of them grinning at each other.

Sam has a moment, just a moment as a shiver runs down his spine. Palm touching palm, blood mixing with blood. The feelings start to well up, the panic and anger and sadness tickle his subconscious. Touching Dean is always a risk. He knew that when they started. But then Dean lets go and the air comes back into the room. Sam inhales it, hoping it sounds like a sigh to Dean's ears.

"When you're my chauffeur, Dean, can I call you Jeeves?" Sam asks as he carefully cleans the blood from his cut, hissing as he pours one of their small vials of whiskey on it.

"I could ask you the same, future slave," Dean retorts as, he too, cares for his wound. "Well, I'm beat Sammy, you gonna shower tonight?"

"Nah, go ahead, I'm gonna turn in for tonight."

"Kay, 'night, Sammy."

"Night, Dean."

Sam walks off, taking the bedroom furthest down the hallway. The bed isn't too bad and has new sheets, courtesy of Dean, he guesses. He flops down onto it, stretching his limbs, letting his body relax and his mind slow to a dull hum. Then, like at the end of all hard days, he reaches down, slowly, to sneak his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers. The warm flesh instantly responds to the touch and he sighs contentedly.

Down the hall, the shower clatters to life and Sam's erection jumps at the sound of water rushing through the pipes. He bites his lip and closes his eyes.

He tries not to think too hard about green stars.

Waking up in the morning is hard for both of them. They have to get up early to see Dad because the rest of the day is filled with grocery shopping and setting up their temporary home to be a somewhat decent living space. Dean is more of a morning person than Sam will ever be and forces Sam from bed and into the shower before he can get a word in, edgewise. The warm water wakes the senses and when he gets out five minutes later, he feels better than he has in days.

Outside, it's humid and hot but the ocean provides a soft and steady breeze that sets off the brutal scorch of the morning sun. The air is salty and damp and Sam can't get enough of it. They never come out here, to the West Coast. It seems that ghosts and ghouls' more typical haunts preside in the midwestern states and, ever so occasionally, the East Coast. But Sam's only been to California twice in his life and one of those times, he was three months old and it was Dean's first trip to Disneyland. That was before everything, before hunting and all this messed up nonsense.

The second time was far less pleasant and way more memorable. It took place on the border of California and Oregon. It had been a nice change of scenery, sure, but it was just a larger version of the Sioux Falls woods behind Uncle Bobby's house. This, the beach and the ocean and the warm sun, is new and invigorating and beautiful in a way that makes Sam want to use words he usually reserves for those few and far between, private moments when he lets himself wax lyrical about Dean's-

"Yo, Sammy!" Dean hollers from the doorway of their rental. Sam turns from where he's standing at the end of their driveway. "Get your ass back in here and finish getting ready. We don't got all day!"

Dean's in a hurry. He always is. Like Dad is really going to care if they're late, he thinks, snorting. The end result will be the same either way. Still, he doesn't want to make Dean mad unnecessarily so he goes back inside the small house and does as Dean tells him. It's as he's pulling a worn band t-shirt over his head that the gravity of the situation hits him. Their dad is in the hospital with a punctured lung. It's not the worst injury to come their way but it does mean that dad will be on bed rest for a long time. The bet he made with Dean notwithstanding, if Dad is on bedrest for long enough, Sam might actually get a real summer vacation.

The thought is both fucked up and happy. Of course he wishes that having this small modicum of freedom didn't come at the cost of his father's health, but it's always been that way. The only freedom Sam's ever known has come at some sort of price, whether it be injury to himself or dad. These resting days where they don't have to run around the country on deadly hunts are worth whatever injury he might sustain, barred death. The only person Sam truly worries about when it comes to injury is Dean.

If it were up to him, he'd keep Dean as far away from all the terrifying monsters as possible. But it isn't, and he's the little brother, the one who is supposed to be taken care of. He lets out a put-upon sigh as he runs a hand through his hair. He gives himself a perfunctory glance in the mirror before walking out into the foyer where Dean is waiting for him.

The ride to hospital is short and silent, Meatloaf playing in the background. The silence is comfortable, aided by the music, and Sam enjoys it more than he's willing to admit. Truth be told, if this was how it was all the time, just him and Dean and the open road, he might not mind it too much. He cuts off that train of though before it can go any further and undoes his seatbelt as they pull up in the parking lot of Saint John's Health Center.

Their dad is in ICU and it takes them ten minutes to get checked in. Dad, in his infinite wisdom, foresaw events like this and set up a believable insurance rouse that would cover the cost of his hospital stay. It helped, too, that Dad seemed to have a bottomless reserve of emergency money. Sam isn't sure but he suspects that, without the cost of a mortgage or rent and groceries and utilities and all those other things that normal people have to pay for, Dad must have loads of money stowed away for other uses.

It's as comforting as it is irritating. Knowing that Dad has enough money to put an end to living like this, but isn't doing so, makes Sam chafe with anger. He forces himself to let it go, though. It wouldn't do to greet his bedridden father with anger and resentment. He can do that any other day. Today, he knows he needs to show respect and sympathy.

Their dad greets them with a nod, unable to talk around the tube in his mouth that is breathing for him. It's not the worst condition any of them has been in. In fact, despite the many things he's connected to, he looks perfectly healthy-if not a little tired. It's almost a good thing too. He's obviously doped up on pain meds, judging by the small smile his lips form around his breathing tube. It's a relief that their dad doesn't have the means to talk right now. That means that Sam can avoid any arguments that might pop up. He never knows with Dad, when or where they'll open verbal fire on each other.

"Hey dad," he says kindly. "I really like the place we're staying. It's right on the beach. Maybe, if you get better soon enough, you can come down and see it...Thanks, by the way, for saving our lives back in Baker. I know I don't say it often enough, but I love you."

It's the exact kind of sweet and sentimental thing you're supposed to say when you almost lose someone. Sam means it, on some level. He does love his father but he's not sure he's really thankful for his dad risking his life over and over again. John, however, seems to take it to heart and he grabs Sam's hand and squeezes it, a silent gesture of affection. Then he lets go and turns his head toward Dean.

Dean steps forward and starts in, immediately. He says the same affectionate things but with a lot more heart behind them. Then, he starts talking. He talks about hunts and memories and other things to while away the minutes. Sam feels a little pang of jealousy that quickly gets doused by guilt. He quietly excuses himself from the hospital room and is happy to not be stopped by either Dad or his brother. He says something about getting something to drink and takes to the hallways.

Walking through the hospital is disturbing and nerveracking. Everywhere, there seems to be orderlies running this way and that, trying to get to patients. They're shouting things like, "V-fib!" and "Cardiac arrest!" and it sets Sam's teeth on edge; his hands begin to shake. He keeps his eyes fixed on the ground, not wanting to view the other sick and dying people, half tempted to turn-tail back to his Dad and Dean. When he finally reaches a soda machine, his hands won't cooperate and he can't get his dollar to go into the slot.

"Not a fan of hospitals?" A female voice questions from behind him. He whirls around and meets a pair of amused hazel eyes.

"Uh..." he stammers, ineloquently. "I just, uh, don't like all the noise."

"Ah, panic attacks?" She queries. Sam just nods and hides his shaky hands behind his back. This girl is pretty, with long red hair and softly made-up eyes. He only gets a minute to look at her though before she's thrusting an orange pill bottle in his face.

"Here," she says, "this is Zoloft, take one. It works pretty well but it'll tune you out pretty hard."

She steps forward and pulls a dollar out of her jean pocket. Sam still has his hands behind his back. She doesn't seem to notice and puts the dollar in the soda machine, shaking the bright orange pill bottle in Sam's face. Sam jerks into motion and reaches for the bottle. He's a little dazed so the sound of a soda clattering to the bottom of the machine makes him jump. The girl reaches around him and grabs the soda out of the slot. She opens it and hands it to Sam.

"This one's on the house," she announces. "Go on, take the pill. It'll make you feel better."

Now Sam, on principle, has always been sensible. He doesn't go home with random hunters (and he's been asked before), he doesn't take drinks offered to him by strange men, and he doesn't hitch hike. But this girl smiles genuinely and, really, who would roofie someone in a hospital? The bottle does, very clearly, say ZOLOFT. Plus, his hands are still shaking and his heart rate is spiking so maybe, just this once, he should go with his gut. Not giving himself a chance to reconsider, he pops the pill into his mouth and washes it down with the sickly sweet soda.

"Th-thanks," he finally mutters.

"No problem," she chirps. "I'm Kandice, by the way."

"Sam," he murmurs back, shaking her proffered hand. They begin walking, together, down the hallway.

"Well, Sam, you seem to be in low spirits. Did someone you know die? Is that why you're here?"

He's struck by this girl's lack of decorum. Who just asks that? Some part of his mind is indignant until a more rational part reminds him that nobody he knows is dead so maybe he should just answer the question, no matter how abrupt and uncouth it is.

"Uh, no. My dad just had an accident and he'll be on bed rest for a while," he speaks softly, only loud enough to be heard by Kandice. His hands have stopped shaking, though, so the Zoloft must be working.

"Oh," she utters, "well, my grandma's dying."

Again, the abruptness of the statement slams into Sam. He doesn't say anything. He wants to say something comforting but, somehow, knows that this girl wouldn't appreciate it like she should. So he stays quiet and walks with her in silence.

In their silence, Sam takes a moment to look at her. She's got long, wavy red hair and freckles on every visible part of her skin. She's dressed in a red t-shirt that's tucked into high-waisted shorts and on her feet, she's got a pair of well-worn mary-janes. She's pretty in a way that Sam doesn't usually notice. A hard sting of remorse jars his bones as he considers her. If his life was anything but what it is, he'd want her. It's some kind of cosmic karma that she can't compete with the likes of Dean where his desires are concerned.

"So where ya from?" She asks finally, breaking the silence. Sam ponders the question.

"Everywhere, I guess," he shrugs. "Kansas, if you wanna get specific. But we've lived on the road my entire life. My dad's from Kansas...my brother, too."

"You _live_ on the road? Don't you have a home base or something?" Her curiosity is polite and Sam only resents her a little bit for being so normal as to expect that everyone's got to have some kind of place to stay.

"Well, my uncle lives in South Dakota and if ever we had a base of operations, I guess his place would be it. But we don't have anything like that for ourselves. We live out of hotels and stuff. It's kind of in the job description...my dad's job, I mean."

"That blows," she sympathizes. It's a something Dean would say, has said, in times of comfort so Sam smiles despite himself. "You're dad ever think of stickin' around anywhere?"

"Barred fatal injury, there's not much that he thinks is worth sticking around for. Fight or flight. That's the family motto. Either we're doing our jobs or we're running to someplace where we're needed."

"Needed? What, exactly, is it that you do?"

"We're...exterminators, we get rid of pests but not like termites and raccoons. We take care of the big ones. I don't exactly like it but I'm good at it. Still, just two more years and I'll be off to college."

"Have you ever tried running away before?"

"Once."

There's a long pause as they turn a corner and begin to circle back around to their original spot. Sam keeps his eyes on his shoes. The Zoloft did it's job and he's more relaxed than he's been all week, but he still doesn't like the high-energy buzz of the hospital. The stench of death clings to hairs inside his nostrils. It's a smell he's all to familiar with.

"What about love?" Kandice asks.

"What?"

"You know, all those cheesy romances about a guy that's always on the run finally meeting a girl that changes everything and he falls in love with her and they buy some house in the suburbs together, fade to black, roll credits, blah blah blah."

"Yeah," Sam snorts, "no. My dad doesn't believe in stuff like that. At least, not anymore. He's an ex-marine. He believes that if you can't take it with you, then it's gotta go."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's like military logistics, right? Foot soldiers carry packs that only have the essentials in them; sleeping bags, hardtack, guns (of course), and whatever else they need to survive. And that's just the physical stuff. Emotions are their own load and you're only supposed to carry around the usable ones; fear, anger, and pride. Stuff like love doesn't have room on the battlefield and if you have desires, they need to be expendable. Why do you think men in the military always cheat on their wives with the local girls? It isn't love, it's lust and it needs to be unloaded so they can make more room for fear, anger and pride. You can only take what you can carry and love isn't one of those. Love needs to be left behind, you can't carry it with you." _Unless the person you love happens to be your brother._

Sam clears his throat and rubs the palms of his hands on his jeans. He would be panicking, if not for the Zoloft counteracting the very idea. Talking about love is a risk because it, inevitably, brings Dean to mind. Sam thanks whatever deity is out there for Zoloft and tries not to tune out while he and Kandice walk.

"Why, though? Isn't love supposed to be, like, the most powerful thing in the world?"

"No. Love makes you crazy and it can break you. The most powerful thing in the world is fear and the most powerful man in the world is a coward."

"That's some pretty deep shit for a bunch of exterminators," Kandice observes.

"Uh," Sam stutters, only now realizing that he may have been loose-tongued. The Zoloft had worked a little too well. But he's always been good at thinking on his feet. "It may sound melodramatic but you try moving to a different town every two weeks and not get poetic about it."

"Touche," she concedes.

They're back at the soda machine and Sam checks the time. It's been half an hour and he knows he needs to get back to Dad and Dean.

"Alright, well it was nice meeting you Sam," Kandice says, shaking his hand again.

"You too, Kandice," Sam agrees.

They part ways and Sam has the strangest sense that he's not seen the last of that girl.

When Sam gets back to where his dad and brother are, Dean has shit-eating grin on his face that worries him. Thoughts of Kandice go out the door when he realizes what's going on. He wills the universe to stop what's about to happen but, as usual, his silent pleas go ignored. He sends up a little prayer to God for mercy and then frowns at his brother, nearly pouting.

"Two and half months, on the dot," Dean says smugly.

"No way," Sam argues. Dean holds out a little pink slip of paper that reads, in untidy doctor scrawl, _two months recommended bed rest for John H. Winchester._ "You've got to be kidding me."

"This is too funny to be a joke," Dean says, laughing. "You really are my bitch, now."

"Shut up, jerk."

Sam can't believe he lost the bet. He groans in exasperation and curses himself. This is going to be one hell of a summer.


	2. Chapter 2

**So, remember guys, you are a test audience. You're seeing this before it's beta'd. Think of it as a rough draft. Be as critical as you want. I need your feedback.**

**Chapter 2: A Catalyst in Pink Lipstick and Red Stiletto Heels**

_She throws a party that turns out to be the end of the world..._

Sam watches surreptitiously, from the window of their rental, as Dean washes the Impala. He's not ogling, per say; to ogle would require more lust and less shame. Sam, for all his certainty in his love for his brother, knows that he's on the precipice of something much more dangerous. Sure, he's whacked-off to some stolen images of his brother's green eyes and hard muscles but that's it. He hasn't actually imagined what it might be like to have those arms wrapped around him or what those lips would feel like on his skin. It's like he's leaning against a door and on the other side, a dark lust he can't begin to comprehend is banging away, trying to get through.

The door is still closed and he hasn't reached the physicality of what being in love with Dean means. So watching his brother, shirtless and soapy, doesn't give him a boner or drive him mad with lust. What it does do, is send a sharp, painful jar of absolute, pure _love_ through his bones and he is drowning in his brother's beauty. How is it, he wonders, that they're related?

Sam knows he, himself, is not ugly and in the last year, he's come into his own somewhat. He no longer feels like a baby calf, on knobbly knees with overgrown limbs. He's more aware of himself and has a better sense of how his body contorts and exactly how long his arms and legs are. The gangly, stick look has given way to lean muscle and he's put some meat on his bones with the way he eats. He's aware of himself, knows exactly what he looks like; he's sure of himself.

Dean, on the other hand, is confident. Being sure of oneself and being confident are worlds away from each other. Sam moves with a sure step, his stride determined and pointed. Dean moves with grace and carelessness, a lazy strut. Sam hunches his shoulder to try and make himself seem smaller so he doesn't inadvertently intimidate people. Dean walks, shoulders thrown back, secure in his knowledge that he is the most beautiful thing in the world.

Sam knows that Dean doesn't really think that (never mind if it's true) but his older brother does know that he's attractive. As a little brother, it's Sam's job to knock him down a few pegs. How fucked up is it that he's just a stricken by Dean's beauty as anyone else? Except no, because anyone else couldn't love Dean the way Sam does. Sam doesn't just see his brother's beauty, he sees everything else too. It's not just the eyes and the muscles and the freckles that paint this portrait, it's the heart and the fierceness, and the scars. The scars are most important. They're Dean's story and not just anyone can love them. Those are Sam's to love...

"Sammy! Sam!" Sam snaps out his daze and focuses on Dean. His older brother is glaring at him from where he's standing by the Impala. "Jesus dude, what's with you lately? You're a million miles away; I've been calling your name for like five minutes. Bring me that car wax, wouldja?"

Sam jumps down from his perch on the windowsill and he steps outside into the blazing summer heat. He picks up the car wax from its spot by the door and walks it over to Dean. When he hands the bottle to his brother, their hands touch. Another jab of pure, aching love rips through him and the dark lust bangs more insistently at the door. He forgives his brother for enjoying winning the bet so much and for ordering him around at every available turn. Truth be told, Sam doesn't mind doing what makes Dean happy.

"Thanks," Dean grunts. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out some cash. "Here, if I send you into town, you think you can pick up some cold sodas and something for dinner?"

"Yeah, what kind of soda do you want?" Sam asks, taking the proffered money.

"Surprise me."

Dean grins at him and turns back to the car. Sam only gets a glimpse of his brother bending over the hood before he hastily turns around and begins walking toward town. The dark lust in him roars in frustration and retreats. Sam is surprised by his lack of panic attack and figures that he can't have a mental breakdown every time he encounters his brother shirtless.

The walk to town would've have been specialized torture if not for the ocean breeze that blew through every few seconds. It helps that the city is only two blocks away from their house. Still, despite the heavy ocean breeze and the minimal distance, Sam is sweating bullets by the time he gets to the supermarket. He runs a sticky hand through through his damp hair and sighs in relief as he stands next to the freezer section of the store.

He's looking at frozen pizzas when he sees her. Sam isn't one to notice girls of any sort.; at least, not on a physical level. He's not gay, he knows that. Given enough notice and forethought, he knows he can get it up for a girl; but that involves a thorough cleansing of Dean from his mind which is nearly impossible. But this girl is impossible not to notice. For one, she doesn't look like she should be anywhere near or around a supermarket, of all places.

She's wearing tight daisy dukes that run up over the swell of her ass and a red and white polka-dot corset top that pushes her boobs together in a way that doesn't even look comfortable but is definitely sexy. Red, strappy stiletto heels adorn her feet and shape her legs in a way that Sam cannot help but notice. Her long red hair is tied up in a messy bun at the back of her head and that's when Sam sees her face; hazel eyes, framed by thick black eyeliner and plump lips, shiny and pink like a cotton candy.

"Kandice?" Sam questions, recognizing her through the haze of makeup on her face. The girl turns to him and her perfectly penciled eyebrow arches in question. What gave her away, Sam reasons, were the freckles. The tiny, discolored spots litter every available surface on her body.

"I'm Sam," he reminds her, "from the hospital the other day; the Zoloft kid."

"Oh yeah!" She exclaims, smiling. "Sorry, I knew you looked familiar."

"Yeah," he murmurs. "I almost didn't recognize you. You look...er...different."

She looks down at herself and her cheeks pink. "Oh, this is for a party," she excuses. "I'm throwing one tonight. Kind of a summer kick off of sorts."

"Oh," Sam remarks, "that's cool."

"You should come!" Kandice says, suddenly enthused. "Actually, that's perfect. You're new around here and I know everybody. You can meet some people. It'll be great."

"Oh, I can't. My brother is expecting me back with dinner, so..." Sam trails off.

"Bring him along! The more the merrier. Come on, it's summer, Mr. Traveller. When's the last time you had any real fun with people that you aren't related to? You should enjoy yourself while you're here. From what you told me, I'm guessing you won't be staying long."

"Well, we're actually here all summer because of my dad's injury-"

"Even better! Seriously, Sam, you should come have some fun. You look like a guy who could use it."

Sam doesn't say anything, internally weighing the pros and cons of going to a party. He's never liked crowds and doesn't care for loud music. However, he will be here all summer and it couldn't hurt to make a few friends. Even though he's learned from experience that making ties and getting to know people only hurts in the end, that's never stopped him before. Plus, if it has an expiration date and everyone knows it's temporary, then he can play it safe and keep his heart close to his chest and maybe no one has to get hurt at all. He can be friends with Kandice because Kandice knows he won't stay. Parting ways could be quick and nearly painless; like ripping off a bandaid.

"Well," Kandice breaks his train of thought and reaches forward, grabbing his arm and pulling a pen from the bag slung over her shoulder, "if you decide to come, here's my address. It starts at seven" She writes it on the palm of his hand. "Don't be a stranger, Sam."

She walks off down the aisle, leaving Sam staring at the black ink on his hand in wonder. He's never met anyone so forward in all his life except, maybe, Dean. Maybe he should be used to it, then. Making a decision, he abandons the frozen pizzas and grabs a six pack of soda from the Soda aisle. He quickly pays for it at the register and starts a quick-paced walk home, ignoring the sweat that's pouring down his face once he reaches the driveway of their rental.

"Where's dinner?" Dean asks when Sam steps inside the door. He grabs the soda from Sam's hand and examines it. "Grape? You're not allowed to go shopping anymore. No food and grape soda? Where's your head at, man?"

Sam ignores him and snatches the sodas back, taking them into the kitchen. He fills two glasses with ice and pours some of the purple liquid into each glass. He throws the used cans into the trash below the sink and hands one sweating glass to his brother who makes a face but takes a drink anyway. Sam sits down at the table with him.

"So," Dean prompts, "dinner?"

"We got invited to a party," Sam says as way of answer.

"We got invited to-we've only been here for like three days!" Dean raises his eyebrows at Sam. "And

since when do you get invited to parties? How do you even know anyone here?"

"I've been invited to parties before," Sam snaps defensively. "I just never want to go. And I met a girl at the hospital the other day. I ran into her at the supermarket just now and she invited us to a summer kick off she's having tonight."

"You would pick up chicks at a hospital," Dean teases, smirking at Sam.

"I didn't pick her up, she just helped me with soda machine is all," Sam defends, rolling his eyes at his older brother.

"Nah," Dean says tauntingly, "don't play modest, Sam, I've seen you work that geek boy magic before. Some girls dig that."

"Shut up, Dean," Sam huffs. "So do you want to go or not?"

"Well you did skip out on dinner," Dean reasons, "so I don't think I have much choice. But since when do you want to go to parties? Last time I took you to one, you threw up all over-"

"Can we not relive that moment? Like, ever again?" Sam cuts him off, wincing at the unpleasant memory.

"Aw come on, Sammy, it was funny. The guy forgave you the next morning...although, I don't think he'll ever use that hot tub again."

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. "While I'm really enjoying this trip down memory lane, can we get back to the point? Party. Tonight. Do you want to go?"

Dean doesn't answer right away and Sam raises and eyebrow at his brother as a look of realization comes over those green eyes. Dean grins at him, giving him a knowing look, but Sam is confused and doesn't know what Dean thinks he knows.

"You like this girl," Dean says, a teasing lilt to his voice.

"No I-" Sam starts to say but doesn't get very far.

"Yes! Yes, you do! That's why you want to go to this party, isn't it? Well, Sammy, why didn't you just say so?"

"Because I don-" but Sam stops himself from protesting; because, really, Dean thinking that Sam likes some girl is far better than the alternative. What can it hurt to let Dean live under this delusion. It might make everyone's life easier; and it's not as if he doesn't like Kandice. He just doesn't like her as much as Dean. "Fine, yes, I like her, alright? Now, can we go?"

"Sure, just give me five minutes to get ready."

Dean walks off down the hall and Sam throws himself on the couch, sighing heavily. He hopes that taking Dean to this party will give him some space from his older brother. While he usually enjoys monopolizing Dean's time, since dad's injury he's felt like he hasn't had any room to breathe. The adrenaline of rushing their father to the hospital and the need to do something life-affirming have conflated upon each other, creating this aching need to be with Dean at all times. The only downside is that once he's there, taking up every minute of his brother's day, he realizes how suffocating it can be to wrestle with love and desire while trying to ensure that Dean is never too far away.

At a party, however, he can drop Dean off at the door. Dean can take care of himself, teenagers being the least of the evils they've faced. So he can be secure in his knowledge of Dean's safety without actually having his brother in his direct line of sight. It will also give him a chance to make friends that aren't Dean. Despite everything, Sam is a social person. Even though he usually prefers to not go to parties at all, he's actually looking forward this one. It'll give him a chance to relax and he knows he's been wound up for the last few days.

He runs a hand through his hair, and stands up from the couch. He has no idea how tonight is going to work out but he remains cautiously hopeful. Hell, the worst that can happen is that Dean ends up drinking too much and sleeping with some girl and Sam is left to walk home. It's happened before and Sam is willing to risk it this time because he really cannot manage another night of being in close quarters with Dean without doing something they'll both regret.

Sam looks up as Dean swaggers out of his room, a pair of tight-fitting jeans hugging his waist and a black t-shirt clinging to his muscles. His hair is styled up, as it always is, his fringe made to stand at a point. His leather jacket hangs loosely off his frame, always just that much too big for him. He smiles at Sam, that panty dropper smile and if Sam was wearing panties, they would be on the floor right now. The smile weakens Sam's knees a bit and he has to clear his throat a few times before he can form any words.

"Ready to go?" He asks, trying to sound huffy, but sounding more breathless than anything. He curses himself in his head but gives Dean his best impatient "bitch face."

"Yup," Dean says smugly, cocking his hip to one side and striking a pose. "How do I look?"

"Like the prettiest princess at the ball," Sam assures. "Can we go now?"

Dean scowls at him, "bitch."

"Jerk."

Sam gives Dean the address and they head out. The beach city is so cluttered that it takes them more than a few minutes to find their way around. Dean curses everytime he turns down a wrong street, but they get there eventually. As it turns out, Kandice doesn't live too far away from them, at all; just a few blocks from their rental. By the time they arrive, the party has already started but isn't quite in full swing. The teenagers outside the house aren't drunk yet and the music hasn't reached sound barrier breaking levels. Still, there's a lot of them which is enough for Sam to guess that the night is going to get much louder and drunker than this.

The door is unlocked and Dean pushes it open with a confidence that would suggest he's the host of this party. The house itself is relatively empty, most of the party patrons standing out on the balcony or down on the sand of the beach. Kandice is easy to spot, in her heels and her bright red top, she stands out like a beacon-a really hot, slutty beacon. Dean raises an eyebrow as Sam beelines toward her. Obviously his brother didn't expect the girl Sam was into to look like this.

"Kandice," Sam says as he approaches her, very aware of his brother's eyes on his back.

"Sam! You came," She says, smiling, pink lips shiny and glossy. "I didn't think you would. What made you change your mind?"

"Change it?" Sam asks incredulously, "You didn't give me a chance to make it up! My brother's into this whole scene, though. I thought he'd like to come."

"Oh, where is he? Is he that one over there, in the leather jacket?"

Sam turns around to see Dean has started hitting on a pretty blond girl over by the drink table. He doesn't know when his brother walked over there but something ugly boils up in his stomach as the blond girl laughs at something Dean says that probably isn't even that funny. He's not sure how Kandice picks him out, seeing as he's never thought that him and Dean look alike at all. Something close to panic wells up in him as he considers that. Do Dean and him resemble each other? Enough to look like family?

It wouldn't be a big deal if Sam was a normal, sane little brother. But he's not and the few times he's allowed himself to fantasize about being with Dean, really with Dean-like lovers and stuff-he's always had this crazy idea that no one would ever call them out on their looks because they look so different. The idea that someone can see right through that makes Sam's stomach churn. How sick is he to fall in love with someone who has the same face as he does? Is that vanity or insanity?

"How'd you guess?" He asks Kandice, pushing his roiling thoughts aside.

"I saw you walk in with him," she admits. "You guys don't really look anything alike, do you?. Maybe in the build, you know? You two are both pretty tall."

A strange wave of relief and disgust sweeps through Sam and it's all he can do not to start freaking out. Instead, he nods and smiles and lets Kandice drag him over to the drink table so that he can introduce her to Dean. The minute he gets there, Dean thrusts a drink into his hand. Heedless of what might be in the cup, he takes a large gulp of it. Alcohol is the Winchester-preferred method of dealing with emotions. He takes another large drink, not even noticing the bitter taste of the alcohol as it slides down his throat.

"Hey Dean," he says lamely, gesturing toward Kandice. "this is Kandice. I met her at the hospital. Kandice, this is my brother, Dean."

"Hi," Kandice chirps, reaching out to shake Dean's hand. "I'm sorry about your dad. Sam told me he was in an accident. Will he be okay?"

Dean shoots Sam a sharp look. He's hates it when Sam tells other people about their lives. Always polite, though (especially with women), Dean simply shakes her hand and smiles.

"He'll be fine," Dean assures, if not a bit tightly. "It's all about recovery at this point."

"That's good," Kandice says as she fills a red, plastic cup with alcohol. Sam recovers his wits and intervenes in the conversation.

"Well," he interjects, "why don't you introduce me to some of your friends, Kandice? I think my brother, here, has already made a new friend of his own."

Realistically, Sam knows he's just trying to put space between himself and Dean. That doesn't stop him from laying it on thick, grinning at Dean and shooting a pointed look toward the blond girl he'd been flirting with before Kandice interrupted. Dean accepts the gesture with a nod and Sam walks off with Kandice in the other direction. He spares one last glance back at Dean before he lets it go, deciding that tonight will be a night where he stops worrying for five minutes about the fate of his and Dean's relationship.

Sam is pretty tuned out when Kandice introduces him to her friends. He nods and smiles and makes small talk but his head is somewhere else. It's not until someone mentions weed that Sam tunes back into what's going around him. It only interests him because the last time he smoked it was at a party last winter and he remembers the feeling of being completely carefree and above the clouds.

He hasn't done it since, never wanting to risk Dad finding out. But here, at a party, surrounded by drunk and high teenagers, the idea seems more appealing. He's done nothing but worry and stress for the last week; he could use something to help him relax. A small conversation goes on about which pipe to use and what kind of weed to pack. Sam's not really paying attention.

A few minutes later, a small blue pipe is being place between his fingers. The rancid leaves are burned with use and smoking slightly. The bowl is warm and Sam spares a thought to the lips of the person who hit the pipe before him but he dismisses it. It's a party after all, there's no time to consider the consequences of actions.

"You ever done this before?" Kandice asks from beside him.

"Yeah, once," Sam answers, staring at the pipe in his hand with a mix of anticipation and nervousness.

"Here," Kandice says, giving him an understanding smile, "I'll light for you." She holds up a small red lighter and gestures for Sam to put the pipe between his lips. He does so.

"Inhale when I light, okay?" Sam nods and watches as Kandice flicks the tiny lighter into ignition. The small flame catches the putrid leaves and Sam inhales, slow and steady, trying not to cause too much discomfort to his throat and lungs. He still coughs slightly on the exhale, but not enough to be embarrassed about it.

He passes it on to the person next him-some bulky jock dude-and sits back to let the weed take effect. It happens pretty quickly; his body starts to buzz and his head begins to feel lighter. His mouth seems to dry out and his eyes feel heavy. His stomach feels abnormally empty and his center of focus skews until he's not really focussing on any one thing in particular. The pipe goes around the circle a few more times, Sam hitting it each turn, until the bowl dies. Someone says something about repacking it but the small circle breaks up and Sam is left on the couch, alone, feeling the effects of his high

He doesn't know how long he sits there, it could be hours or minutes. It's only when he becomes conscious of the fact that he has no idea what time it is that he thinks to look around. Kandice has moved onto the dancefloor and is dancing with some handsy, tall guy. She doesn't seem to notice him though. She seems completely lost in the movement of her own body. Sam observes this for a few seconds before a little alarm goes off in the back of his head.

It's muffled by the weed, but a little voice in the back of his head shouts for Dean. Sam doesn't know how long it's been since he last saw his brother or how long they've been at the party. It doesn't feel like it's been long at all but, looking around, he realizes that it could've been well over an hour since they got here. Deciding now, with enough alcohol and weed in his system, is a good time to hunt Dean down, he gets up and starts to cut a pathway through the gyrating bodies.

When he gets to otherside of the room, many things happen at once.

He spots Dean, for one. His brother is making out with someone (predictably) but Sam is stopped in his tracks. Because that short, sinewy body does not belong to a girl, his brother is kissing a _boy_. Not just kissing him, devouring him, tongue fucking his face with a ferocity that is both precise and wild. Jealousy, the likes of which Sam has never felt, rises up in his stomach, making him want to throw up.

His stomach drops and, very suddenly, he is no longer interested in finding Dean but getting as far away from him as possible. His doped up brain is making it hard for him to react accordingly to the situation. He knows, though, that he has to get out of here. He can feel his head clearing up, like someone is shining a harsh, burning light on his brain, telling it wake the fuck up and run.

He turns around, prepared to do so, but is stopped by Kandice. She yells something to him, tugs on his arm to try and get him to dance, but the last thing Sam wants to do right now is dance. His head is spinning, his skin is on fire, his heart rate is through the roof. The weed is no longer helping to stabilize him. This kind of panic is beyond help, beyond Zoloft and weed, and alcohol. It sobers him so quickly, he gets dizzy and the room spins.

"Sam?" He hears Kandice call. But he needs to get out, he needs air or he's going to-he going to-

"SAM!" Kandice screams as he empties his stomach at her feet.

"Sam!" Dean calls from behind him.

_Shut up! _He thinks viciously. He's really dizzy now, the world is tilting and his lungs are failing. His throat is closing up and he needs to get of here before he passes out in his own vomit. He looks at the mass of bodies, trying to find an opening in their seemingly impenetrable ranks. He's seeing double, his vision blurred, his stomach in knots.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice is closer now, too close. How long has he been standing here, shoes covered in his own vomit? The thought only serves to make him panic more.

He turns his head and, like a gift from God, finds an opening in the bodies. He breaks into a sprint, pushing through the bodies, ignoring their complaints. His heart speeds up, the air becomes stale and the struggle for breath becomes more insistent. Then, the backdoor! He almost cries in relief but his lungs don't have the air for that. He pushes them open, so hard they bang against the house, causing several people in vicinity to startle.

He keeps running, full speed toward the water. The sand resists him but he keeps running, harder and harder. His vision begins to tunnel as he reaches the more finely packed sand near the water. He runs until the water touches his feet, keeps going until it's up to his knees. Then he stops, finally stops, because he feels like he's going to die.

He tries to take deep, calming breaths and attempts to organize his thoughts. Why had he come out here? Oh right, his brother had been kissing a-a boy. The thought makes his stomach clench and he begins to dry heave. It's highly unpleasant but it forces air back into his lungs and his heart rate drops rapidly. His head feels light with the sensation. He feels drying tears on his face and rubs at them. They could've been from the vomiting or the dry heaving but he suspects he knows what they're really from.

"Sam?" A soft, familiar voice says. Dean's standing a few feet away from him, on the shore. Seeing his brother almost makes the panic come back but he clamps down on it.

"Sorry," Sam says a little breathlessly. "Guess I'm claustrophobic...or something."

"Yeah," Dean agrees, unconvinced, "are you okay?"

"I will be," Sam assures. "Are you drunk?" He asks because if Dean kissing some guy is just a drunken fumble then he can forgive it; laugh at it, and forgive it and pretend that it doesn't mean anything.

"Designated driver, Sammy," Dean reminds him. "I had a few drinks earlier but I'm pretty sober right now. Are you? Is that why you threw up? Man, alcohol isn't your friend at all."

"I was, but it-uh, it cleared up pretty fast," Sam answers. "You-you were kissing a boy."

He doesn't mean to say it and he certainly doesn't mean to sound so small when he does. It just sort of slips out; some side effect of the alcohol and the weed. He suspects that the weed is the only thing keeping him from freaking out again. His high hasn't completely dissipated, it just got interrupted.

"Oh," Dean says, his cheeks turning pink, "you saw that." Sam nods, prompting his brother to explain. "I've been wanting to tell you for awhile, it was just never the right time. You know me, Sammy, I'm not much of a talker when it comes to stuff like this. But I figured out back in Omaha, that I'm bisexual. It's not like I've done a lot of stuff with guys or anything so don't get all bitchy. I've gone about as far as you saw back there."

Dean speaks quickly and nervously, something Sam isn't used to. His brother is never vulnerable and seeing it makes what would've been anger or betrayal, turn to forgiveness. Dean has obviously been thinking about how to talk to Sam about this for a long time and Sam appreciates that. He just wishes the discovery hadn't been so shocking.

"Do you want to go home?"

The minute the words leave Dean's mouth, Sam realizes how tired he is. They haven't been here that long, he knows, but he's not sure he can handle anymore. He looks at Dean who is giving him an apprehensive, concerned look. If Sam were a stronger man, he'd buck up and go back inside the party and face the rest of the night with his head held high and his heart in pieces. But Sam isn't that strong; he's not sure anyone is.

"Yeah," Sam mumbles, "if that's okay with you."

"Okay, Sammy," Dean says, a tentative smile touching his lips, "we can go. We can go back and pick up some fried chicken and some root beer. I think there's a Scifi movie marathon on tonight."

Dean says all this as Sam wades through the water, back to shore. Once he's there, Dean slings and arm around his shoulders and shoots him a blinding grin. Sam appreciates his brother's effort and he doesn't know how to tell Dean that no amount of junk food and bad movies is going to fix what's wrong with him. For his brother, though, Sam would do anything; even fake happy while suffering a broken heart.

It's one thing to deal with a straight Dean; a Dean who is all about boobs and legs and curves. At least, then, Sam knows he has no shot no matter what. Seeing Dean with a guy, however, is a whole different playing field. Sam will start making comparisons between himself and the guys that Dean seems to like. Sam knows it, like he knows the sun will come up tomorrow, that he will never look at Dean the same again after tonight. All the bubbling feelings that have been building up over the years will get even harder to maintain.

He dreads the thought but tries not to think about it as they walk back through the mass of teenage bodies. He just needs to focus on getting through the rest of the night before he considers the rest of his young life. They find Kandice in the foyer, wiping vomit off her heels. Sam apologizes profusely but Kandice just laughs and tells him it's okay. They tell her that they're heading out and she pouts but nods in understanding.

"Here, take my number," she says, handing Sam a little piece of paper that she must've written her number on earlier. "Call me."

She gives Sam a kiss on the cheek and gives Dean a friendly hug before walking off, back into the throng of teenagers. Dean gives Sam a lascivious wink as he watches Kandice walk away. Sam rolls his eyes and punches his older brother in the arm before they turn around and head out the door.

The car ride back is much shorter now that Dean knows where he's going. When they get back inside the house, Sam excuses himself to the bathroom to go take a shower. He wants to get the smell of alcohol and vomit off of his skin. If possible, he'd also like to scrub the image of his brother making out with a guy from his retinas, permanently.

As the warm water of the shower cascades over his shoulders and back, images begin to flash through his mind. Dean is kissing him, like he had been kissing that other boy. Dean is running his hands up and down his torso. Dean's pretty pink lips are stretched around his-

"Fuck," Sam gasps, removing his hand from his cock as if it were on fire.

Sam knows he's screwed. He's never imagined Dean in this capacity before; he's never allowed himself to. The dam's been broken. Sam feels like he no longer has any control over how his body reacts to his brother. _Shit, _he thinks. _Shit, shit, shit._ Panic builds up where the lust had been moments ago.

The door has been open. _Fuck!_ The dark lust is beginning to spill through.

He leans against the wall, trying to calm himself. He tries to tell himself that it'll be okay. He'll learn to control it like he always has. But something changed at that party, something he can't make right or put back. He rues the day Kandice walked into his life. If it weren't for her, none of this would've happened. He thinks he wishes he never met her. But regret is forgotten as the panic overwhelms him.

He only spends a moment trying to control his heaving lungs before he gives up, letting the sweet blackness take him away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Take or Leave You**

_Sam isn't as subtle as he likes to think._

"You passed out in the shower," Dean informs him as he walks into the kitchen the next morning.

"Oh," Sam utters, not remembering much of it. "Well that explains why my bed is all wet...and why I woke up naked."

He'd put clothes on a soon as he woke up, dazed and confused about how he ended up in his bed. Having it explained puts Sam at ease and he sniffs the air, only now noticing that something smells delicious.

"What's cooking?" He asks Dean, sitting down at the table.

"Fried chicken and waffles," Dean answers. "I picked up the chicken last night and found you in the shower. I figured we could just eat it now."

"Sounds good," Sam concedes, pouring himself a glass of orange juice from the carton on the table.

They sit there for a few minutes before the microwave dings. Dean gets up and pulls the chicken out from it. He separates four pieces evenly onto two plates. The waffles pop up from the toaster and he takes them, putting them on the plates with the chicken. He sprinkles some confectioner's sugar on the waffles, puts some butter on them, and then pours syrup over them. He sets his plate down and puts one in front of Sam.

Sam thanks him and immediately digs in. Dean, however, doesn't immediately start eating. That's a bad sign and Sam knows that Dean is about to start a "conversation;" the kind that Winchesters aren't supposed to have. He sighs, takes a sip of his orange juice, and meets Dean's scrutinizing gaze head on. They sit there for minute, having a sort of staring contest before Sam shies away and looks down at his waffles. How is it that Dean can scold him without words?

"What's been up with you lately, Sammy?" Dean says, tone polite but Sam knows that he has to answer.

"Nothing," he mumbles lamely.

"Right," Dean snorts, "that's bullshit and you know it. Seriously, dude, what's wrong? You've been wound tighter than a nun lately. You passed out in the shower. You've been jumpy, distant, and you keep spacing out all the time. Are you having some gay crisis or something?"

"What? No, it's nothing like that. I'm-I'm not gay, okay?"

"Then what is it?" Dean pushes. "C'mon, Sammy, you know you can tell me anything."

"I'm-," Sam sighs, looking for the words, "I guess I'm just tense, alright? I just...can't relax since dad got hurt."

"Are you worried?"

"No, I mean, I am but that's not what's wrong. I mean-I just can't relax, you know? Like at all. Every time I try, I just get wound up again. It's like...I can't turn off my thoughts."

"Does this have something to do with me being bisexual? You're not...weirded out by it, are you?"

Dean sounds worried but Sam can't comfort him because every memory from last night hits him simultaneously. The panic is a near thing but his body is physically and emotionally exhausted. His very soul aches with fatigue. Everything feels stretched and gray like his emotions are worn from overuse. The green stars he loves so much don't shine as beautifully, instead they seem to mock him, even though he knows that's not Dean's intent. It could just be the raw, agonizing love that seems to be wedged into every crevice and corner in his heart, or maybe it's the fact that now, he can't look at his brother without the world becoming small and tight and airless. Whatever it is, it sucks the panic right out of him and he skips straight to the melancholy sadness that always seems to follow.

"I don't care that you're half gay, Dean," Sam assures. Deans scowls at him but presses on.

"I'm bisexual, asshat," he asserts. "So you can't stop thinking, is that what's been bother you? I always knew that that big ass brain of yours would get you into trouble."

"I just need to relax," Sam says earnestly. "I've just been too tense lately, that's all. I promise."

"Well then we need to clear your head, buddy boy," Dean says, suddenly enthused. "And I think I know just the thing. You have that girl's number, don't you? Kandice, was it?"

"Yeah, why?" Sam asks.

"Call her and give the phone to me. Then, you need to go take a nap. You look like shit." Dean stands up from the table, dropping his plate into the sink with a loud clatter. Sam follows him, not completely able to keep up with what just happened.

"I literally just woke up!" Sam argues but Dean is already handing Sam the phone.

"Dial and sleep, Sam," Dean commands.

"But-"

"Remember our bet Sam?" Dean asks, raising an eyebrow. "Who won it?"

"You're such a dick," Sam whines, running off to his bedroom to grab Kandice's number. Once he gets it, he runs back out to the living room, grabbing the phone from Dean's hands and dialing.

"Hello?" A female voice picks up.

"Hey, uh," Sam stumbles, "is this Kandice?"

"No, this is her mother. Who is this?"

"Uh, this is Sam...I'm uh, a friend from school," Sam lies quickly.

"Oh, well alright, let me go get her for you."

There's some muffled shuffling and talking before another female voice is on the phone.

"Sam?" Kandice's voice questions.

"Uh, hey Kandice...this is kinda weird but, um, my brother wants to talk to you."

The words barely leave his mouth before Dean's grabbing the phone from his hands. Sam tries to bat him away but it's too late. Dean's always been quicker than Sam.

"Hey Kandice," Dean says heartily. Sam tries to grab the phone back, but Dean holds him back with one hand. "Just give me a sec, my brother is-"

"FUCK! Ow, Dean, that hurt." Sam rubs at his arm that just got a third degree Indian burn.

"Go take a nap," Dean orders.

"But-"

"Sleep, Sam!"

"Fine, I'll go to my room...but I'm not sleeping."

He sticks out his tongue petulantly at his brother before stomping off to his bedroom. He throws himself dramatically onto the bed, imagining that Dean can feel his reluctance through the three walls that separate them.

He falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

* * *

"You did take a nap!" is the exclamation Sam wakes up to a half an hour later.

"Under protest," Sam assures, sitting up in his bed, scowling at his brother.

"Get dressed," Dean says, "we're going out."

"Out? I just woke up!" Sam argues, feeling groggy and slow and not in any shape to leave the house.

"Who's fault is that?" Dean taunts, smirking at Sam.

"You-" but he's too late and Dean's already left the room.

Sam groans exasperatedly and stands up, pouting all the while. He grudgingly gathers some clothes together and slumps off to the bathroom. He showers quickly and efficiently and puts on his clothes with a purposeful slowness that he hopes irritates Dean. Finally, he has to face the inevitable as he walks out into the living room where his brother is laying on the couch.

Sam looks away, trying to maintain the light heartedness of the morning. Seeing Dean, stretched out like that...he shakes his head and leans up against the wall. He looks past Dean as he talks.

"We going?" He says, casually, trying not to sound too curious or nervous.

"Huh? Oh yeah, let me grab my keys."

Sam follows his brother out to the car and stays quiet during their ride to wherever they're going. A weird sort of calm has overcome them since breakfast. Maybe talking to Dean had helped, though Sam can't imagine why. Maybe he's so emotionally worn that he's become numb to everything else. He can't decide what it is, but he doesn't want to ruin it so he stays quiet in hopes of maintaining and sustaining the peacefulness.

Sam isn't all that surprised when they pull up to Kandice's house. He is surprised, however, when she comes out and gets in the backseat of the Impala. Sam isn't sure what Dean is up to but they barely know this girl and he's letting her ride in his Baby. He doesn't get to ask questions though as Kandice says her hellos and her and Dean start talking about directions.

"You're gonna wanna turn left up here, on Truman Street," Kandice informs as they drive.

"Where're we going?" Sam hazards, having a distinct feeling that he'll be going unanswered.

"You'll see," Dean replies vaguely.

_Didn't see that coming,_ Sam thinks sarcastically. The rest of the drive is silent, save for the Pink Floyd tape in the deck and Kandice's occasional direction. Sam doesn't try to convince Dean to let him in on their secret destination. He knows his brother well enough to know there's nothing Dean likes more than making people wait with bated breaths. His brother has a flare for the dramatics.

It's another few minutes, two Pink Floyd songs, and a few more directions from Kandice before they're pulling into the parking lot of a small beach. Of course, this close to the ocean, everything is beach but this particular beach is cut off from the rest by large rock walls to the east and west, with about 10 or so yards of sand between them.

The climb down from the sidewalk to the actual beach is a steep one and Sam has to hold Kandice's hand the whole way down (Dean is inexplicably incapable of doing so) just so they can get to bottom safely. There doesn't seem to be any stairs down which leads Sam to believe that it's private property. He decides he's not going to be the voice or reason this time, though. If for no other reason, than because he doesn't want Dean to tease him relentlessly for the next few weeks.

"It's a bit of a challenge," Kandice informs them, "to get to the cave."

"The cave?" Sam asks, following her through the sand, not commenting on how she hasn't let go of his hand. Dean's following behind them and Sam doesn't want to look back to see the suggestive look his brother is surely giving him.

"Yeah, right around this wall," she points at the giant rock structure that's towering over them to their right.

A bit of a challenge is an understatement, in Sam's opinion. They have to remove their shoes, for one, so that they don't get wet. Then they have to find footholds on slippery, ground level rocks while gripping onto the wall itself for balance, which is also slippery and wet. Then, they have to slowly edge around curve of the wall, where the rocks meet the water, until they see a small cave with an inch or so of water coating the sandy ground. Sam steps into the water and sighs in relief, the rocky path to the cave had cut up his feet and the water feels nice on the raw skin.

"Why did we come here?" Sam asks, lowering his voice when the echo surprises him.

"For this," Kandice reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a small plastic baggie, filled with what, at first glance, looks like oregano. It doesn't take long for Sam to put two and two together and realize that the bag is filled with weed.

"We went through all that just so we could get high?" Sam asks, slightly irritated.

"Not just high, Sammy," Dean says from behind him, startling him, "high...in a cave."

He says the last part as if getting high in a wet, sandy cave is tantamount to getting high on the moon. Now that, Sam thinks reasonably, would be worth it. But he's already here and it would be silly to turn back now. He finds the driest rock he can and makes a seat of it. Kandice is already seated on the rock next to him, packing weed into what looks like a tiny bong with a little glass penis attached to it.

"What is that?" He asks, marveling at the piece of glass.

"A bubbler," she answers. "It's just a tiny bong, really. It's a better high because of the size though, you get more smoke when you hit something smaller," she explains.

"Huh," is all Sam has to say in response.

A nervousness begins to build up in his stomach. Last time he did this, it didn't end well. He decides to voice his concerns.

"The weed at your party," he tells Kandice, "it didn't...I didn't feel really high. I just sorta felt like my body was super heavy. I mean...isn't a high supposed to be more...mental?"

"That's because that weed was an Indica," she says, "it's just a different type of weed plant. Indicas are more body highs and sativas are more head highs. This," she gestures to the bubbler on her lap, "is a sativa. This will give you the mental high you were talking about."

"Oh," Sam says dumbly, rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans. He doesn't know why, but the small space, the smell of weed, and the fact that Dean's been unusually quiet has Sam's teeth on edge. "Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean says. Sam doesn't actually have anything to say, he just wants his brother to stop sitting there, saying nothing. It's driving Sam crazy.

"Have you smoked weed before?" Sam decides to ask, just trying to fill the oppressive silence.

"Sammy, come on," Dean says, raising an eyebrow at his brother, "of course I have. I'm twenty years old."

"Right," Sam murmurs. He looks at Kandice who looks like she's done packing the bowl and is now holding it out for Sam to take.

"You get the greens, Sam," she says, "because I like you."

Sam takes the bubbler and examines it. He presses his thumb over the carb hole and lights the bowl. He inhales, filling his lungs. The smoke goes down surprisingly smooth and he exhales as he hands the bubbler off to Dean. The effect is faster than it had been at the party. Almost immediately, he feels a head rush and his body begins to feel lighter. The nervousness goes out of him with surprising speed and it's as if a magic hand has wiped his mind of worry and strife.

He tries to remember why he was upset in the first place, why he's been upset all week, but it no longer matters. All that seems to matter is what's going on right now; this moment right here, in a damp cave, is the only thing in life that's important. The feeling is indescribable and, all at once, his muscles unclench and everything evens out. He's in the clouds.

The bubbler ends up in his hands again and he takes another hit, willing for this sensation to last as long as possible. His eyelids feel heavy and a tired calm settles over him. He looks at Kandice who is staring at a piece of ground intently, zoning out. He wonders what she's thinking about but doesn't ask and looks over to Dean who is looking at him.

"What?" Sam asks, confused by his brother's intense gaze.

Dean's eyes shift up to lock with Sam's. The stare holds and Sam wonders what Dean sees in him. Can he see how much Sam loves him? The thought would worry Sam if he was sober, but now he only feels mild curiosity. Chances are that Dean is too stoned to care what emotions lay behind Sam's eyes and, even sober, Dean isn't that intuitive. Still, their gaze holds and Sam doesn't know why. He tries to decipher an emotion in those green orbs, but he can't. He's not sure if it's because he too stoned to understand or if Dean is purposefully keeping his face blank.

Suddenly, Dean coughs loudly and looks away, standing up from the rock he's sitting on. Sam starts and gives Dean a questioning look but he is pointedly looking in the other direction. Sam tries to catch his brother's eye but Dean won't look at him. It confuses Sam beyond belief but his doped up brain won't cotton on, so he gives up and entertains himself with watching his own feet kick in the water.

"Do you guys wanna do something?" Kandice asks, breaking the silence. The echo of her voice make Sam jump and he looks over at her.

"Sure," Sam answers, standing up from his seat on the rock. Kandice follows suit and they both look to Dean who's already standing, tracing his fingers over the walls of the cave.

"Let's a take a walk on the beach," he says, not turning to look at Sam and Kandice.

"That sounds good," Sam agrees.

They have to make the dangerous trek back to the beach but, being high, they hardly notice what they're doing. Sam does notice that Dean keeps a steady pace, a few steps out in front of Kandice and he. His brother seems to be trying to get away from them and Sam can't understand why. _Maybe I'm just being paranoid_, he thinks. He knows that it's one of the side effects of smoking weed. He doesn't want to imagine what the issue might be if it's not simply his own weed-induced paranoia.

Making a final decision to come back to the thought later, he turns his attention toward Kandice; he wants to get to know her a little bit better. Today, he observes, she's dressed in some whitewash jeans and a baggy flannel over a tattered brown tanktop. It's a very grunge look but it's thrown off by the lack of shoes on her feet. _If she was wearing combat boots,_ Sam thinks vaguely, _it would complete the look. _

Sam shakes his head, realizing that he's mentally critiquing a girl's outfit. _Maybe I am gay,_ he thinks jokingly, but the thought inadvertently leads to Dean and the feelings he has for him; and those thoughts usually lead, inadvertently, to panic. With the weed in his system, however, panic is a non-option. Not being able to panic and not being able to care about not being able to panic seems to short circuit Sam's entire emotional system and he ends up laughing.

Hysterically.

It starts out as few bubbling chuckles, a huff of tickled breath past his lips. But then it escalates until he's hunched over, gasping for breath through his laughter and tears. He almost forgets that he's with Kandice and when he looks over at her, she's grinning at him, starting to laugh herself.

"Sam," She says through a small giggle, "Sam what's so funny?"

"I d-don't kn-know," he gasps which only makes him laugh harder. He hears Kandice's laughter join his own and they have to stop walking so they can laugh.

Sam forgets about everything, focussing on pushing air in and out of his lungs so that he can laugh more. He grabs Kandice's arm for support and struggles to stop laughing, or even just slow down. He's going to pass out at the rate he's going. But the lack of oxygen just makes his high better, his head feels even lighter and for a second, he's concerned that maybe he really _is_ up in the clouds. He feels elated; more free than he's felt in...ever.

"What the fuck is so funny?" Dean's voice is a knife in a fist fight and it cuts through Sam's elated haze faster than he can comprehend.

The abrupt stop to his elation, causes the laughter to stop and he ends up inhaling too sharply, choking on his own saliva and coughing before he can say something to Dean about how the funniest thing in the world is sometimes nothing at all. But when he looks at his brother, he sees that he's glaring at Kandice (who is still laughing) and it confuses Sam. He's still too high to breach that subject, he thinks. If he says something now, he might say something that will offend Kandice...or Dean.

"I'm going up to the car to get my jacket," Dean says, "I'll be right back."

He walks off, but his posture is almost angry. Sam has no clue what is bothering his brother and he'll ask him about it later; but right now, he turns back to Kandice who's looking at him intently. Her eyes widen comically and Sam tilts his head at her, not at all sure what's going on.

"What?" He asks, when she doesn't explain why she's looking at him.

"You two are brothers, right?" Kandice asks, looking at the spot where Dean had stood before he'd walked away.

"Uh, yeah," Sam says slowly, unsure of where Kandice is going with this

"Like, really brothers? That's not just some cover story or something?" She persists.

"Cover for what? We're really brothers, Kandice. Who lies about that?" It must be the right thing to say because she shakes her head and says:

"I know, I know. I didn't think you were lying, it's just..."

She trails off, but now Sam is curious.

"It's just what?"

"The way you guys were looking at each other it was...intense. It almost looked-looked-"

"What?" Sam demands, suddenly realizing where this conversation might be heading. "What did it look like?"

"Romantic, okay?" Kandice blurts. "You two are just really...intense with each other. I don't know how else to put it. I mean, I know that's crazy. You two are brothers and I'm probably just seeing things but...people just don't look at each other like that very often."

"We're all each other has in the world," Sam defends. "We're not exactly typical brothers. We might be a little...closer than most siblings but it's nothing like _that_." He spits the last word with disgust and gives Kandice an accusing glare.

"I'm sorry!" She exclaims. "I just wanted to make sure."

Sam's heart is pounding, the panic is slow because of the weed but it's there. This is bad, really bad. If Kandice sees the way he looks at Dean then anybody might see it. _Dad _might see it. That thought nearly makes him throw up but he manages to get a hand on it. All he needs to do, he reasons, is prove to Kandice that there's no such thing going on between him and Dean.

"Go on a date with me," he blurts, suddenly, without his brain's permission.

"What? Sam, you don't have to-"

"I was already planning on asking you," he lies smoothly, recovering from his momentary shock with surprising speed. "I was going to, whenever we got to be alone today. I didn't plan on it happening like this...but, well..." He trails off and gives Kandice an earnest look. trying his best to hide the panic he's beginning to feel.

"Uh," Kandice hesitates, "okay. I mean, I've wanted to you to ask me since I met you but when I saw you with Dean, I just...nevermind. Alright, I'll go on date with you!"

She finishes the sentence on a cheery note, smiling brightly. Sam smiles back, shakily. His heart is still pounding, but slowing down gradually. _Great, _he thinks, _now I have a date with Kandice. _He's not sure how sarcastic that thought really is. He does like Kandice and she's very pretty. Maybe going on a date with her is a really good idea. Maybe it will help him deal with his feelings for Dean.

Sure, it's a little fast. He barely knows Kandice; but that's what dates are for. He'll get to know her and see what happens from there. He needs to distract himself from Dean, though. He doesn't have a choice. Whatever he's feeling for his brother seems to be coming to head. Sam has got to make use of the resources given to him. Kandice is one of those resources, and he doesn't have much choice but to use her.

Perhaps he should feel guilty for using her as a way to funnel his feelings but it's not as if he can act on them. The only way to deal with them is to eradicate them and if he can't do that, then distraction will have to be the next best course of action. He still feels a little bit guilty but it's overpowered by reason and logic. Dating Kandice is best, that fact is indisputable.

"You guys want to head down to the pier?" They hear Dean shout from the top of hill. He's standing on the sidewalk, leather jacket adorned, and his hands cupped over his mouth to amplify his voice.

"Sure," Kanice calls back.

They begin making their way back up the steep hill, digging their heels into the loose dirt to prevent themselves from slipping. Kandice grabs onto Sam's hand again and Sam blushes. _Maybe I do like this girl__,_ he thinks. _Maybe this could all work out._

"So, time and place?" Kandice asks, slightly breathless from the effort of pushing herself up the slope. "For the date, I mean."

"Well, Dean and I have to be with our dad, in the hospital, all weekend so maybe next Friday? I can borrow the car and pick you up around seven."

"Sounds good," she concedes.

When they reach the top of the hill, Sam notices that Dean seems to be in a better mood now. Perhaps he'd just needed to cool off. Sam doesn't think about it too much as he gets in the car. He finds that, with the weed in his system, it's hard to think too much about anything. Coming down from it won't be pleasant and the thought makes Sam stomach clench. He wouldn't mind feeling this way forever. Between Kandice and this feeling, he might never worry about his untoward feelings for Dean again.

It isn't long (or maybe it is, Sam can't really tell) before they're pulling into a parking garage near the Santa Monica Pier. Sam gets out, taking a deep breath as the salty ocean air hits his nostrils. He feels invincible, like if the world exploded into a billion tiny pieces, he'd be the last person or thing left standing. He feels impenetrable and he looks to Dean and smiles, bright and free, like he hasn't in too long of a time Dean smiles back and they start their walk to the pier, Kandice a step behind them.

The pier is colorful, loud, and filled with music. The smell of cotton candy rests on the air, mixing with the ocean's saltiness. The ferris wheel is a beacon of flashing lights that make Sam's head spin. All around them, laughter and joy and celebration are happening and, for the first time since he can remember, Sam doesn't feel like an outsider. He feels happy and joyful too, like he belongs here where everyone is smiling and the air is as sweet as candy.

"Do you want to ride the ferris wheel?" Kandice calls from behind him. He spins around and nods enthusiastically.

The three of them take off toward the attraction. Sam and Kandice get a car together and Dean ends up sitting with a very pretty brunette girl. He winks at Sam as they all get seated and Sam laughs, too amped up to be jealous or upset. The ride starts and Sam whoops, making Kandice laugh. They make small talk as they go around and around. He learns that Kandice is a Leo and her favorite color is pink and that, of all foods, she likes cheese best. Sam tells her that he's a Taurus and that he doesn't really have a favorite color and that the best food he's ever tasted was at an Italian restaurant in Tampa.

It isn't until the moment, when they're sitting at the very top of the ferris wheel, that Sam feels it. He glances back, at the car behind them where Dean is seated and kissing the pretty brunette. A brick settles in his stomach. He's coming down. By the time they get off the ferris wheel, his earlier elation is slowly bubbling away. He watches, unabashedly, as the pretty brunette gives Dean her number. Kandice nudges him and he turns to look at her. She's still smiling, unaware of the crash Sam's just experienced. He doesn't want to bring down the mood of the day, though, so he smiles back at her and they wait for Dean to be done flirting with the girl so they can move on to the next thing.

By the end of the day, Sam is feeling thoroughly melancholy again. He's not sure what it is this time, though. He suspects it has something to do with feeling so good and then feeling like...this, in comparison. Dean and Kandice are a few steps ahead of him as they head back to the car. They're talking and laughing which Sam appreciates because he was worried, for a minute, that Dean might not like Kandice. Looking at them now, Sam can tell that they'll get along just fine.

He's not jealous. Kandice already expressed genuine interest in Sam so he doesn't think he has anything to be worried about. Plus, Dean thinks Sam has a crush on her and he would never do anything like that to Sam. Dean may be an asshole sometimes, but he wouldn't do anything to intentionally hurt Sam. Still, Sam thinks as he watches them, they wouldn't be bad together. The thought is passive and unthreatening but Sam still grimaces at the idea.

When they get in the car, they've all quieted down. They're all tired. The day had been trying but fun, something Sam hasn't had in a long time. They spend a few minutes, driving up and down the pier, watching as the sun finally sinks under the ocean. The pier lights seem brighter in the dark and Sam looks at it, missing it already in a profound way he can't really explain to himself. When night settles, Dean starts the drive back to Kandice's house to drop her off.

"You're picking me up at seven on Friday, right?" Kandice asks Sam as she steps out of the car.

"Uh, yeah," Sam answers, forgetting that he hasn't told Dean about the date. Kandice smiles and nods before walking away, back into her house

Sam looks at Dean, who has both eyebrows raised at him. Sam blushes and ducks his head before grinning slightly to himself. He looks at Dean who's still raising his eyebrows and smirks.

"So," he says, "can I borrow the car on Friday?"

* * *

Friday comes faster than Sam's prepared for. The next week speeds by and a heady mixture of nervousness, excitement, and dread begins to settle in his stomach. The dread is more of a precautionary thing than an actual concern. It's not even dread, so much as preprogrammed anxiety that seems to be part of theWinchester genetic makeup. The entire week, he has to keep himself busy with other things so that he doesn't think too much or start freaking out. It doesn't help that Dean is in a mood the entire week.

He won't willingly talk to or go out with Sam and if he does, it's because Sam has bodily forced him or begged and pleaded with his puppy dog eyes turned to eleven. The only time Dean initiates conversation is when he's giving Sam an order and if Sam tries to argue it, he just reminds Sam of the bet and walks away. Sam curses himself for making that bet as he watches Dean bustle around the kitchen, making lunch.

He'd be more worried but this isn't the first time Dean's thrown a fit before, so Sam can wait it out. He always has before. He has his moments where he wonders if it's something he's done but it's impossible to tell. Dean never admits his feelings and Sam doesn't want to force them out of his brother. Silence is the best plan of attack. Eventually Dean will get over whatever it is he's brooding about and be back to his normal self.

When Friday evening finally arrives, Dean is more sour than he's been all week. Sam changes his outfit three times and when he asks how he looks, Dean tells him to grow a pair and walks off to his room. Then, when Sam knocks on his brother's room door to ask for the keys, Dean doesn't answer. He's forced to crack the door open and before he can say anything, the keys land at his feet, tossed from some undetermined point inside the room.

"Are you okay, dude?" Sam finally asks the question he's been putting off all week. It's 6:45, he needs to leave soon.

"I'm fine," Dean huffs in a way that sounds anything but.

"Are you sure, you've been weird all we-" Sam doesn't get to finish before the door is being yanked all the way open, thedoor knob slipping from his hands.

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean insists, "just worried about Dad, okay? He looked like he was in a lot of pain when we went to see him last weekend."

"He'll be okay, Dean," Sam reassures, "he always is."

For the first time, all week, Dean smiles. He nods at Sammy in a sad way that Sam doesn't quite understand but before he can examine it too thoroughly, he's being pulled into a one armed hug by his older brother. He adjusts so he can return it and has to concentrate on not getting too excited by his brother's touch. The air seems to leave the room. He wills his libido to calm down as Dean speaks again.

"I'm sorry for ignoring you all week, Sammy," Dean says. "What's going on with me right now...it has nothing to do with you, all right? This is all my shit that I have to deal with."

"Okay, Dean," Sam mumbles, trying hard not to push himself closer to his brother as his heart pounds. He's saved the trouble when Dean pulls away. Air finds its way back into Sam's lungs and he nearly gasps.

"Have fun on your date, man." Dean ruffles his hair and Sam puts on a show of whining. Really, he's just glad Dean's not touching him anymore. His pounding heart slows and what had almost been panic, recedes back into the recesses of his mind; deciding to keep its' shelter there.

He practically runs out the house. Surprise physical contact with Dean is never good and Sam has to sit in the car for a good five minutes before he feels ready to go to Kandice's house. Ever since that forsaken party, Sam's had trouble being around Dean. His libido is going crazy and he can't get it under control. It's easier when they're around people like Kandice or Dad. But when they're alone, like they had been all week, it's taken everything in Sam not to breakdown or have another hysteric panic attack.

The only thing that kept him from having one all week, was the prospect of his date with Kandice and Dean's avoidance of him. He's relieved that this night is actually here. He's been cooped up with his brother for too long and it's been a struggle. To actually be out the house, without Dean, is a freedom Sam's rarely ever known.

The drive to Kandice's is too short and, by the time he's standing at her front door, he's half considering turning and running. Except he can't because while he's raising his hand to knock, the door is being opened. He drops his hand to his side and comes face to face with a large man with a mustache that covers most of his upper lip.

"You must be Sam," the man say in a deep, gravelly baritone.

"Er yeah, I'm here to pick up Kandice...sir," he adds the honorage to try and appease the older man.

"Kandice!" The man hollers into the house, "Your date is here!"

Sam struggles not to blush at the word, "date." He hasn't been on very many and never with a girl as attractive as Kandice. There's a shuffle of feet and a slam of a door before Kandice saunters up to the doorway. The difference in height between her and her father is almost comical and she smiles brightly at Sam. Sam smiles back but is very aware of Kandice's father glaring at him.

"That your hunk of metal in the driveway?" He asks, nodding his head toward the Impala. Hearing the Impala be called a "hunk of metal" irks Sam but he lets it slide. He can't imagine Dean's reaction to the slur.

"Yes sir, it is," He says, standing up to his full height. He's not about to let this guy jerk him around. The man sniffs and wraps a protective arm around Kandice.

"You get my daughter home safe, now, you hear?" The request is, very clearly, a threat and Sam gives a single, stiff nod in acquiescence.

"Daddy," Kandice whines, "don't be mean to him."

She gives him a kiss on the cheek then steps over to Sam. She pointedly grabs Sam's hand and it take everything in him not to pull away. The man casts one final glare at him before stepping away and closing the door. Kandice puffs out a breath next to him and practically drags him to the car. Once in, she gives a great sigh of relief and smiles at Sam.

"Sorry about that," she apologizes, "my dad is..."

"Protective?" Sam offers.

"Yeah," she breathes, "something like that."

Her mood picks up as they drive. She turns on some music and starts to joke around with Sam. The laughter relaxes him and the knot that's been in his stomach since leaving the rental, dissipates. He begins to joke back with her, telling her stories of the road (leaving out the gory details) and the sort of towns he's been to and all the different people he's met. She, in turn, explains the California coast and all the things and people that are here.

"The weather is pretty nice," she says, looking at the window. "And it's better down here than it is, farther inland. But...I guess I've just lived here all my life, you know? I want to go somewhere else...be someone else."

"Staying in the same place isn't as bad as you think it is," Sam reminds her.

"Yeah," she agrees, "but I've never gone anywhere else, not even out of state. I mean...I get that, for you, moving around all the time is sucky. But...I don't think I'd mind it too much."

"Maybe you'd be better at it," Sam says. "You're a lot like Dean, and he loves living out on the road."

"What is your deal with Dean?" She asks, cocking her head at him. "I mean...you guys have an interesting dynamic."

Sam doesn't want to talk about this. He's on this date to get away from Dean, not to gossip about him to some girl he just met. He keeps quiet for a while, pretending to consider the question. He is, in a way. He's trying to assess the best way to answer the question, succinctly, without sounding like he's brushing it off or dodging it.

"We're," he hesitates, "all each other has. I mean, our dad is with us but he's rarely ever around and Dean's the one that raised me. I guess we don't realize how our relationship with each other is different than a lot of other siblings. It's just how we've always been, honestly. I can't really give you a reason for it."

"What about your mom? Where is she?" Kandice asks. Sam _really_ doesn't want to talk about this.

"She passed," he answers, "when I was a baby. Can we-can we talk about something else?"

"Oh sure, sorry," she says sheepishly, "I didn't mean to pry or anything."

"No," Sam assures, "it's okay. I just don't really want to talk about my brother tonight. Let's talk about...you. Who is Kandice er...what's your last name?"

"Carter," she answers, smiling.

"Alright," Sam says, "who is Kandice Carter?" She smiles and seems to ponder the question.

"Well I didn't grow up in Santa Monica, believe it or not. We lived in Nevada when I was born, really close to Las Vegas. You ever been there?"

"A few times," he answers, thinking of the large population of incubi and succubi that thrive in Las Vegas.

"Well, we lived a few miles outside the strip. So basically, in the middle of butffuck nowhere. I hated it there. It was hot and dry and no one ever stayed, ya know? People don't go to Nevada to live, they go there to get away from living. It was sad, ya know? I always seemed to make friends with the out-of-towners and the drifters."

She gives him a little ironic smile and he smiles, apologetically, back. They pull up to the restaurant and Sam gets out, walks to other side of the car, and lets Kandice out. It's a small little seafood place on the pier and when they get inside, the place is bustling. The hostess checks their reservations and leads them to a table toward the back where it's less crowded and quieter.

They sit down and a waitress comes by and fills up the pre-placed water glasses and puts a basket of warm bread in the center of the table. Kandice and Sam both reach for a piece of bread and take sips from their water glasses before Kandice continues her story.

"We moved here when I was nine. I hated it here more than I hated it in Nevada...I guess I wasn't a very happy kid. My parents loved it, though. My mom's kind of a hippie, ya know? She loves the beach, says the waves and sand cleanse her soul and crap like that. She says it resonates with her spirit." Kandice wears a fond smile as she tells this, shaking her head slightly. "My dad likes the weather, it's never too hot.

But I hated it, ya know? In some ways, I still do. I mean, it's great living by the beach and I like it well enough. I guess I just don't like California, in general. I feel...trapped; between the mountains and the ocean. I know it's a big place...but everyone is the same here and no one cares about anyone else. They're selfish; they can't think for themselves."

A waitress interrupts them to take their drink order. Kandice orders a strawberry lemonade and Sam orders a coke. The waitress writes it down, smiling. When she walks away, Sam and Kandice begin examining the menu.

They make small talk as they choose what to eat. Sam decides on a shrimp stir fry and Kandice orders the smoked salmon. Sam thanks his own habit of saving up any money he gets from odd jobs in different towns and emergency money from Dad. Over the years, it's piled up and Sam barely made a dent in it when he grabbed some money for tonight.

"What about you?" Kandice asks as they put their menus aside. "I mean you don't have to tell your life story. I can't imagine how complicated that is. But what about other things?"

"Well, what do you mean by other things? What do you want to know?"

"What about your father?" She asks. "What's your relationship like with him?"

Sam understands why she asks the question. She's already heard about him and Dean and he's made it clear the discussion of his mom is off the table. He'll admit that, of all his relationships, the one with his father is the least complicated; maybe not in content, but in dynamic. After all, what guy doesn't fight with his father? So, he's not as opposed to answering this question as theones about Dean and his mom.

Still, he's not sure how to put it into words. He doesn't know how to describe the strange disconnect between himself and his dad, to Kandice, in a way that would make sense to someone like her. It's easy to describe the fighting and the lack of communication. It's harder to explain that he's still filled with a fierce love for his father because he is family. Kandice probably doesn't understand the concept of family. At least, not in the way that Sam does. He decides to start with the love, and work his way down from there.

"He's a good man," Sam states plainly. "He's strong, a fighter. I think he would've been a great father if my mom hadn't passed. We just don't agree on things. I mean, that's all it really comes down to. He thinks that The Job is life. There's no room for argument. I don't want what he wants and so we fight. A majority of our conversations are fights.

If he cared about what I did at school. If he cared about grades, and test scores, and whether or not I was getting bullied, it might not be so bad. But all he cares about is The Job. Nothing takes precedence over it. Nothing I do and nothing Dean does. Hell, he probably values The Job over his own wants and needs."

"Why is your father so passionate about exterminating?" Kandice asks, genuinely puzzled. By this point, their food has been brought out to them and they begin talking between bites.

"I think," Sam hesitates, not wanting to give too much away, "I think he's running from something. I think he's running from pain or sadness or something equally terrifying to him. My father...and my brother; they don't do feelings too well. It really scares them to face their emotions. My brother isn't as good at avoiding it, though. My dad is a champion at it. Sometimes, I don't think he has any real emotions."

"Do you remember what he was like before-sorry, nevermind," she quickly cuts off her question, clearly not wanting to upset Sam.

"No, it's okay," Sam says, because it is. All the sadness he feels toward the events of his six month birthday, is detached and indirect and culminated on insignificant vagaries of, "what if" and "could've been."

"It's just earlier, it seemed like a touchy subject," Kandice admits, hiding her embarrassment in a bite of salmon.

"I don't-I'm not used to letting people in, is all. Getting close to people...it's dangerous for me."

"I understand," she says. And Sam thinks that, maybe, she does.

"To answer your question," Sam says, "no, I don't. I was only six months old when it happened."

"Oh," Kandice says, "well maybe it's better not to remember, ya know? Maybe it's better that way; that way you don't have to make comparisons between what he used to be like and how he is now."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Sam agrees. He's thought it before, himself. He may not like the way his life is but he counts himself lucky that he doesn't know any other way of living. It's one thing to wish for a simpler life, it's quite another to have a simpler life to compare to. He imagines that it would be a lot more painful that way.

"My brother sometimes tells me stories," he admits suddenly, not quite sure why he's telling her this. "He told me, once, that Dad used to play his guitar every Sunday morning after breakfast. He'd sit on the couch and play old rock songs and Dean used to sit at his feet and sing along to the ones he knew...and, in that way, I kind of miss it. I miss what he had; what was never mine."

They're both quiet after that. Kandice gives him a long contemplative look and they finish their meals in amicable silence. When they finish, Sam pays the check and they leave. Kandice checks her watch and smiles at Sam.

"Let's go the beach," she says.

It's not a long drive from the pier parking lot to the beach parking lot. They could've just walked down to the beach but both of their stomachs were too full for that. When they get there, Kandice grabs Sam hand and drags him down, close to the water, where the sand is kind of damp. She sits down carefully on the sand, and tugs on Sam's hand to bring him down with her.

He does as she silently commands and they sit there together, watching the waves. Sam loves the salty smell of ocean water. He loves everything about the beach and, privately, thinks Kandice is crazy for not liking it. He feels her rest her head on his shoulder and he smiles. This is what normal feels like. This is dating girls, romance, and cheesy romantic comedies. This is everything he's supposed want.

If he doesn't think about it too much, he can pretend that it is.

"Sam," Kandice says, lifting her head from his shoulder.

He looks over at her and is surprised to find her face much closer to his than he expected. She smiles at him and his heart begins to beat faster. He knows what's about to happen. She leans in and he, obligatorily, leans in too.

When their lips meet, it's everything a kiss should be. It's slow and sweet, with just the barest hint of tongue. But Sam knows what it should feel like and, yet, he doesn't feel it. There are no fireworks, no sparks, not even a flush of warmth.

It not enough; it never will be.

But it will do.

**A/N: If you guys don't review/follow/fav, then I don't update. This story is being posted here purely for feedback. If I don't get any feedback, then there's not reason for me to continue posting here.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: It's Alright, Here Above the Clouds**

When Sam drives Kandice home, they don't say anything; but she holds his hand across the seat. With one of his hands on the wheel and the other gripped firmly in Kandice's, Sam feels different. He feels more hopeful. He knows that this, his relationship with Kandice, will never satisfy him completely; but it has the potential to be the most effective of coping mechanisms. He doesn't feel as guilty about it as he probably should because he figures that there are certain exceptions to every rule.

In short, it's wrong to use someone to cope with a breakup or a divorce. Being in love with your brother, however? Well, what else would one have him do? He can't just throw himself at his brother and hope for the best. He has to find a way to deal with. It's not like anything will ever come of his feelings for Dean so Sam's only option is coping. He has to learn to deal with it. It's his only choice.

Sam's justifying this to himself as they pull up to Kandice's house. She kisses him on the cheek before she gets out of the car. Sam walks her to the door and walks back to the car with a small grin on his face. The drive back to the rental is peaceful and silent. It's not too late, 10:00 and he's excited to tell Dean the details of his date. But when he pulls up to the house, all the lights are off, except for the porch light.

When he walks in, the place is silent. Sam has a moment of brief panic, imagining the worst possible scenario for why the house would be this quiet at this time of night, but it's quickly reined in when he checks Dean's room and sees his brother asleep in bed. He's still confused, though. Dean almost never goes to sleep this early, unless it's after a hunt. He could've just been tired, Sam reasons, and decides to drop the subject.

He'll talk to Dean in the morning.

When he falls into his bed, he tries not to think too hard about the date. He feels like if he begins to consider it too much, he'll find a reason to run from it. He can't run. This is the first viable option he's come up with to cope with his feelings for Dean. Everything before this had been foolish daydreams and impossible hopes. This, however, he can come to grips with...as long as he doesn't think about it too much.

There's a lot of untapped guilt under his skin, he knows. If he scratches too hard, he might become overwhelmed with. He closes his eyes and forces himself to relax, drifting off before his subconscious can catch up with him. His last thought before blackness takes him is a feeble prayer (that, really falls short) about how he hopes the coming storm of emotions he's about to feel, doesn't sweep him off his feet.

He wakes up surprisingly calm, stepping out into the kitchen and feeling generally unchanged. He doesn't know what he had been expecting. A wild, irrational part of him, hopes that his feelings for Dean will just magically disappear. Another part of him is angry with himself for lying to himself. Then there's everything in between including his unacknowledged guilt for making Kandice the unknowing victim in all of this.

There's a good chance that it's all too much for "just-woke-up" Sam to deal with. It might hit "later-in-the-day" Sam in a few hours. He doesn't question it because, as of right now, there are no panic attacks and no emotional breakdowns. And when Dean exits the shower, towel slung low around his hips, Sam is able to keep his bodily reactions under control.

They eat breakfast together, bickering as they are wont to do. It's an amazingly mundane morning. Sam hopes the peace will last, indefinitely. Maybe, with Kandice there to distract him, Sam can have the rest of the summer to relax and have fun. Somehow, he doubts it but that doesn't stop him from becoming foolishly hopeful as he leaves the house that afternoon to hang out with Kandice. Dean, however, holds him up at the door.

"So is she like your girlfriend now, or something?" Dean asks, his voice harsher than Sam thinks is necessary. He understands that Dean had thought the summer would be just him and Sam, but he doesn't think that's any reason to dislike Kandice on a personal level. If anything, Dean should be blaming Sam. He's the one trying to put space between them.

He feels guilty for it, though. Dean must be confused, he reasons. They'd both been excited for the prospect of an entire summer just to hang out and do all the things they usually don't get to do. Dean is obviously put off by Sam's sudden disinterest. Still, it's not like Sam can just up and tell Dean what's bothering him. This distance, no matter how confusing it may be to Dean, is necessary for the both of them.

"I don't know, maybe," Sam answers, shrugging, walking past Dean get to the door.

"Hold your horses, cowboy," Dean scolds, stopping Sam in his tracks. "You know what Dad says about settling in. I know you like making friends, Sammy, but you better be careful where this Kandice girl is concerned. When you leave, it won't just be her getting hurt."

"I know, Dean," Sam snaps, genuinely irritated. The last thing he likes being reminded of are Dad's rules. "We're just hanging out, okay? It's not like you haven't had a girlfriend before, Dean. What about Natalie in Washington or Rachel in Memphis? And what about the, ever so infamous, Rhonda Hurley?"

"That's different, Sam-"

"No, Dean it's not. You're just trying to protect me again," Sam's voice softens. "I appreciate that, Dean, I do. But you can't protect me from this. Kandice is not a big scary monster, she's a girl and this is something I'll have to experience sooner or later. I know we may not be staying here forever, but we'll be here longer than we're used to. That's enough, isn't?"

"So you're going to lead her on?" Dean asks.

"No, that's not, at all, what I'm doing. Kandice knows I'm not sticking around. I told her we lived on the road; said that we were exterminators. I'm not leading anyone on, I'm not setting myself up for disaster, I'm just trying to make the most of what we have here. I'm...gathering my rosebuds, so to speak."

"What?" Dean asks, raising an eyebrow at Sam incredulously.

"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may?" Sam asks. "Did you pay attention in school at all? Carpe diem, Dean. Seize the day. Go watch Dead Poet's Society," Sam suggests as Dean's face remains blank, "I'm going out with Kandice."

Before Dean can object, Sam's out the door. He'll deal with the repercussions of that later. For now, he's focussing on getting to Kandice's house. Sam's lucky, he supposes. Dean could have easily taken away the keys to the car or, equally, forbade Sam from going to Kandice's. Dean does have that power, thanks to the bet. Sam's actually surprised by the fact his brother isn't exercising his fairly-won power over Sam at every ludicrous turn.

Aside from a few chores and one, albeit grueling, wax of the Impala, his brother has been surprisingly lenient. Sam guesses that, underneath all that masculine bravado, Dean isn't ignorant to the fact that this summer is a luxury that they rarely ever get. If they were on the road, Sam doesn't doubt that Dean would be walking all over Sam. But he's also done everything he's ever could to make Sam happy. So maybe he's holding back because he knows how important this summer is to Sam.

Sam's musings are cut short as he pulls up to Kandice's house. He honks his horn twice, like she had instructed him to do when she invited him to hang out the night before. He only waits a few minutes before she's walking out the door. Her long red hair is pulled back into a ponytail on the back of her head. She's wearing a red blouse, tucked into blue high-waisted short. Her white sneakers pop out on the dark asphalt and she smiles at Sam as she gets into the car.

"Look what my parents gave me last night," she says excitedly. She holds out a cellphone, a small Nokia that's been used a few times if the chipped plastic is anything to go by. "It's my dad's old one. Isn't it cool? I've never had a cellphone before. Do you have one?"

"No," Sam says, tapping the foreign buttons of the small phone. "My dad has one and Dean got one a few months ago but lost it during a job. My dad tries not to spend too much money on 'frivolous' things. Dean will probably get another one soon, though. Dad likes to keep in touch with us when he takes a job alone."

"Have you ever tried convincing your dad to get you a cellphone?" She asks, buckling her seatbelt as Sam hands the phone back to her.

"No," Sam repeats, "on the list of things I wish my dad would and wouldn't do, buying me more things isn't really a priority."

"Well, I'll give you my number, anyway," she informs, "just in case."

She pulls a pen and paper out of the glove compartment and scribbles her number on it. She tucks the paper neatly into Sam's jean pocket and winks at him. He smiles back and thinks, for the first time, that he could love this girl. He could fall deeply, madly in love with her...if the world were a fair and perfect place. And it's ten kinds of depressing that his relationship with Kandice is just a masquerade to hide his feelings for Dean.

Still, he imagines that in a perfect world, he'd feel real things for Kandice; warm, genuine, mushy, disgusting, and embarrassing things for her. In a perfect world, her smile would turn his heart to pudding and her legs would have a direct wire to his libido. He'd be able to wax lyrical about her hair and her eyes. He'd be able to do what every other guy Kandice should be dating, would be able to do.

"Are you okay?" Her voice snaps him out of his thoughts and he shakes his head.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, "just thinking, is all."

"You do that a lot, don't you?" She teases.

"What? Think?" He asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

"No, thinking is okay. You get lost in your thoughts, though. You, like, zone out a lot. What goes on in that head of yours, Sam?"

There's something hysterically funny about the prospect of answering that question honestly. Between the monsters, demons, and all his unholy knowledge and the endless stream of Dean encapsulated in his brain, he thinks Kandice would explode if she were to know the truth about everything. He just smiles at her and shakes his head again.

"Nothing important," he says, brushing off the question with an easy smile.

There's silence as they drive down toward the pier. Sam hasn't made any real plans for today. He just wants to spend some more time with her. He just wants a few more hours away from Dean. Now that his libido is on board with his feelings for his brother, he's more eager than ever to be away from the rental. He's especially eager to be out with Kandice, to distract himself with her. They pull into the parking lot of the pier and get out of the car. As they walk toward the boardwalk, Kandice interlocks her fingers with his.

"So," she prompts, "what do you wanna do?"

"I don't know," Sam admits, "let's just walk...see where the day takes us."

She smiles and nods and they enter the throng of beach-goers. The pier isn't as vibrant as it had been the first time. On a Saturday afternoon, filled with little kids and bustling parents, it seems more crowded than joyous. Sam drags Kandice around the edges of the crowd, trying to avoid being trampled by the masses. They make small talk as they walk.

"My family once had this dog," Kandice says as they buy ice cream from a nearby vendor. "It was the stupidest thing in the world. We had a cat before and when it died, we never got around to making the cat door into a dog door. And, every single day, this dog would try and get outside using the cat door and get its big fuckin' head stuck. It was the funniest god damn thing."

She starts laughing, they way people do when they're telling a really funny joke. Sam grins because the laughter is contagious, and patiently waits for Kandice to calm down so he can retaliate with his own dog-related story.

"I, too, had a dog once," he announces. "His name was Bones and he was the best dog in the world. I never had to do anything, I just found him on the street one day and he followed me back to the motel. But he was a thief. He would get up on the counter and nose his way into the cupboards and steal food down from the shelves. I alway told him that he'd make a great circus act."

"Your dad let you have a dog? Living on the road? Seems like it would get kind of crowded in that car."

Sam smiles sadly and decides to tell the truth, for once. "I ran away...once."

There's a pause and she squeezes his hand. "Where to?" She asks.

"Nowhere really," he says honestly. "Anywhere but where I was. We were in Arizona and my dad was out on a job. My brother was out, I don't know where, doing God knows what. I just sorta snapped, I guess. I packed my bag, turned in my room key, and caught a bus to Phoenix. From Phoenix, I hitchhiked my way to Flagstaff. I had some money with me and got a room at some dumpy motel a few blocks from the university. Bones found me later that night when I was down at the laundromat. He was a good dog...I don't even know what happened to him after I left."

"You ran away without Dean?" Kandice asks, seeming surprised. "You two are so close...I mean, never mind. It's not my business."

"It wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done," Sam admits. "And I don't think he's ever forgiven me for it..I don't think he ever will."

"Well-"

"Sam! Sam!" Dean's voice comes from behind them and Sam whips around. Dean is sprinting toward them, leather jacket flapping around his frame. Sam, shocked, stands there and waits for Dean to reach them.

"Dean?" Sam questions, "what the hell are you doing here? I thought-"

"It's Dad Sam," Dean pants, overexerted from running, "he coded. The hospital just called. We have to get down there now. Where are the car keys?"

"You ran here all the way from the rent-"

"Sam!" Dean snaps, "Now's really not the time. Give me the damn keys and get your ass to the car."

Sam kicks into motion, robotically. Thoughts fly out the window as he smacks the keys into Dean's hand and begins running to the car. He's vaguely aware of the sound of Kandice's flip flops smacking along behind them. He moves on autopilot; straps himself into the front seat and begins to shake as the car starts moving. The closer their proximity gets to the hospital, the harder his heart pounds.

Everything else is white noise. By the time they get into the hospital, Sam isn't sure how he got there. He feels like the world is rushing around him and he's standing still. Dean ushers him along to Dad's room but Sam is completely offline. He's pushed into a seat where he idly starts picking at the skin around his nails; a bad habit he always forgets he has until his fingertips are bloody and he can't eat anything with citrus in it for two weeks. It only occurs when he's so panicked and freaked out that he simply...shuts off.

He's in a place beyond panic, a dark void where everything is silent and still. He stares at his shoes until his eyes water and peels the skin slowly back from the buds of his nails, ignoring the sting. There is nothing. There are no thoughts, no emotions, just this exhaustive stillness that is strangely more terrifying than any sort of panic could ever be. He can't lift his head to find Dean. He can't worry about what happened to Kandice. All he can do is stare at the way his laces tumble around on his shoe and slowly pick away at the skin on his hands.

"Sam," a voice comes through the silence, warm and familiar. "Sammy, hey. Hey, baby brother, come on, look at me."

Sam turns bleary, uncomprehending eyes onto his brother. Everything, all the things he'd worried about before; the lust and the love and the wrongness. They cease to matter. The dam breaks and he throws himself at his brother, wrapping his gangly arms around Dean, turning his face into crook of his neck and shaking apart in the strength of his brother's arm.

"Hey, sh," Dean says soothingly. "He'll be alright. Everything will be alright. C'mon Sammy, just breathe, baby boy."

Sam doesn't call Dean out on the shakiness in his voice. He simply takes comfort in the safety and warmth he feels with his brother this close. He pretends he's smaller, like he used to be. He pretends he's a little kid again and does his best to cover himself with Dean. But Dean gently pulls away from the embrace, eliciting a small whine from Sam. He shushes Sam and pulls Sam's arms away from his neck and grabs his wrist so he can look at Sam's hands.

"Oh Sammy," Dean says sadly, "you haven't done this since you were in middle school. It's okay, though, little brother. We'll fix you right up. C'mon, let's go talk to one of the nurses."

Dean pulls him up and he follows obligingly. He looks down at his hands, and sees them streaked with blood where he'd peeled the skin. He starts to choke up but takes a deep breath and clings to Dean's arm for dear life. He lets the nurse, that Dean alerts, wrap his hands in gauze. He lets himself be led back to his seat and he lets Dean run a comforting hand through his hair as they wait for news.

The minutes drag by and Sam loses himself in the feeling of Dean's fingers in his hair. The gentle tug and pull, the soft reminder that he is not alone. He closes his eyes and focuses on it, on Dean. This is the first time in months that Dean's touch hasn't led to Sam having completely inappropriate feelings. He had forgotten what it was like. He forgot how nice it was to be close to Dean without being burdened by the insistence of his own libido.

It's like ever since his sixteenth birthday, Dean's been more and more desirable. Before that, Sam had a handle on his emotions. After, though, things had slowly lost control. And, just recently, it had gotten even more intense. He wants this moment to last forever, to be able to be this close to Dean all the time without popping an unwarranted boner. Unfortunately, for that to happen, he would have to be too sad to be horny all the time.

_Maybe it'd be worth it_, he thinks idly as Dean's fingernails scratch his scalp gently. He's still shaking and his heart is somewhere in his stomach but it's nowhere near as bad as it had been before.

"Winchester," a doctor's voice floats from the doorway of his father's room, which they've been sitting outside of.

Sam's eyes snap open and he looks to his left too see a doctor standing there, holding a chart. A sort of hopeful, dreading panic wells up in the back of his throat. It's the moment of truth, so to speak, everything depends on what the doctor says next. He feels Dean's hand tighten in his hair as the doctor walks over to them. Sam pushes his head back into the grip, seeking the comfort.

"Are you his sons?" The doctor asks politely, a sympathetic smile gracing his face.

"Yes, we are," Dean answers, loosening to grip in Sam's hair to pet his head soothingly.

"Which one of you is the eldest?" The doctor asks.

"That would be me, sir," Dean says, tacking on the honorage as a force of habit.

"Well, son," the doctor says, glancing down at the chart in his hands, "your dad is a very lucky man..."

Whatever else he says doesn't matter to Sam. He sags in relief, and throws his head back to look at the bright white lights of the hospital. He smiles and feels tears trickle down his cheeks. He lets them fall. For once, they're from joy and not from panic or pain. He hears something about his father being, "stable" and them, "bumping up surgery," all of which, he'll let Dean deal with. His father is alive, though. A little huff of laughter passes his lips and he presses his smile into the palm of his hand as to not seem to happy in a place filled with dying people.

"Did you hear that, Sammy?" Dean asks, shaking Sam's shoulder. "He's gonna be okay, he'll be okay."

Dean's voice sounds oddly choked but Sam doesn't care. He stands up and throws his arms around his brother, letting his happy tears drip onto his brother's shoulder. They stand there, locked in embrace, for an indeterminable amount of time. Sam's brain clicks back on line and he pulls away slightly from their hug and glances around.

"Where's Kandice?" He asks, curiously, only now noticing that she has, apparently, disappeared.

"Down in the lobby," Dean answers. "We'll go get her. Let's just...see Dad first, okay?"

"Yeah," Sam whispers, "of course."

They walk into the hospital room, hand in hand. Sam's palm is sweating badly, but Dean doesn't seem to notice. Their dad is laying there, asleep, chest moving up and down. Something twists in Sam's gut that overpowers his relief; the giant "what if" stamped all over this scene. Just thinking about it rips him up inside. He takes a shaky breath and lets Dean lead him closer to the bed. When they get close enough, their father's eyes blink open and he looks at the both of them.

"Hi Dad," Sam says through a watery smile. "You're okay, you're okay. We just came to say hi. How are you feeling?"

Dad gives a weak smile around his breathing tube and raises a hand to make a so-so motion. Sam lets out a huff of laughter and grabs the raised hand. He ducks his head down, tears falling without his permission. He sniffles and rubs the rough palm of his father's hand with his thumbs. Dad notices the gauze on his hands and raises a questioning eyebrow.

"Picking," Dean answers for him. "He was doing it earlier. Don't worry, he'll be okay."

"I'm fine, really," Sam chokes through his tears. "Really, it's fine. I'm just happy you're okay. That's all that matters."

His dad gives him another genuine smile around the breathing tube in his mouth. They have moment of silence where they just look at each other. The guns are down, there's no anger behind those eyes. Sam's not one to make empty promises; promises to be a better son from here on out because he almost lost John or promises to stay by his father's side until the last possible moment. He knows that once his father winds him up again, there will be a fight and he'll still want to be anywhere else but near his dad. He still wants Dad alive, though. If it were up to him, near death experiences like this would never happen.

He shakes the thoughts off. It is what it is, and he doesn't have any legitimate control over it. He steps back from the bed so Dean can say his piece. Dean doesn't grab Dad's hand, but sits in the chair next to the bed and rests his head next to his father's arm. He talks, much like their first time visiting. Sam smiles sadly at the scene and sniffles once more, scratching his face where the tears have dried.

"I'm gonna go find Kandice," Sam says to Dean, giving his father a parting glance. Dean humphs in acknowledgement, not breaking his speech to Dad and Sam exits the room.

The hospital is a lot less intimidating this time. The reek of death smells more like bleach and the white linoleum is less oppressive. He doesn't know if it's because he's mellowed out since last time or if it's because he's already had enough panic for one day. Whatever it is, it makes his trip to the lobby much easier. He finds Kandice sitting in a chair next to the receptionist's desk. She's tapping her foot and glancing around the waiting room, eyes never lingering anywhere too long.

"Hey," Sam says as he walks up to her. She snaps up and throws her arms around him. He huffs out a surprised laugh and reciprocates the hug. "He's fine. He's awake and everything. They're moving his surgery up. Everything will be fine."

"I'm glad," she says, voice muffled as her face is buried in his shoulder. "I'm so glad, Sam. I know...I don't know him or anything. But I like you a lot Sam. I-I'm so happy that you don't have to lose him."

"Me too," Sam agrees, "me too."

"Are you okay?" She asks, pulling away from the hug and looking at Sam with guileless hazel eyes.

"Yeah," Sam assures, "I think I really am."

The next morning, Sam wakes up from the deepest sleep he's had in a long time. He opens bleary eyes to the soft morning glow. The waking light filters in yellow from the discolored, once-white, curtains that hang around his window. The window is open, the sound of the sea crashing on the shore and birdsong float in through the crack. He stretches, catlike, popping the bones in his back and legs. He sits up slowly and runs a hand through his bed hair; he throws his legs over one side of the bed, yawns, and stands up, knees popping. Grabbing his towel from his desk chair and throwing it over his shoulder, he exits the bedroom to makes his way toward the shower.

He slumps his way to the bathroom. Dean isn't awake yet, he knows. It's barely dawn and the house is chilly in the early hours. Dean's probably curled up in bed, fast asleep. Sam loves waking up early for this reason. It's nice to not have to rush everything. He takes his time getting the water to a decent temperature. He stretches languidly as he pulls off his clothes and he sighs in pleasure as he steps under the warms water's spray.

Then, there's a few minutes where he can just stand there, letting the water cascade over his back and shoulders. Turning toward the spray, he lets the water hit his chest and ducks his face into the shower to wash away the dregs of sleep. It's peaceful, this morning time, and he rejoices in it. Nothing ever lasts, and he's not stupid enough to think that this will, simply because of a traumatic almost-loss of his father. Part of him dreads Dean waking up because the sexual tension Sam had stopped feeling toward him yesterday in his despair, will most definitely resurface. He's not looking forward to forcefully smothering his feelings again.

When he gets out of the shower, he glances at himself in the mirror, brushes his teeth and leaves the bathroom to go get dressed in his bedroom. He throws on a t-shirt and some jeans and then makes his way to the kitchen to make some breakfast. He ends up popping a chocolate muffin in the toaster oven (he likes the chocolate chips to melt.) As his food is warming up, he decides to call Kandice. He feels weirdly guilty about the turn of events yesterday.

"Hello?" A sleepy female voice comes through.

"Hey Kandice, it's Sam," he says.

"Sam," Kandice repeats, "do you know what time it is?"

"Actually no," he answers, "why, did I wake you up?"

"Considering it's buttfuck o'clock in the morning, yeah I'd say you did. Is something wrong? Is that why you called?"

"No," Sam assures, "nothing like that. I just wanted to apologize for what happened yesterday..."

"You want to apologize for your father having a medical emergency?" Kandice asks, sounding bemused.

"Er...no, I want to apologize for dragging you along. I mean, I'm sorry that you got so worried, that you got so caught up in it."

"Sam, hon, it's fine. Really...listen, can we talk about this later today? We can go get coffee or something. Pick me up around 10. Is that okay?"

"Uh sure," he answers, "sorry for waking you up."

"It's fine, really. Just look at the clock before you call me next time, okay?"

Before he can answer, she hangs up. He would think she's rude but knows better at this point. She's too much like Dean for Sam to take offense to her Dean-ness. He's growing used to it, he thinks. It helps that, in the last few weeks, Kandice has easily become a part of his routine. Perhaps it's because she knows more about him than anyone (besides Dean) or maybe it's because he doesn't have to worry about hurting her; all Sam knows is that she's beginning to feel like a constant. It's already been three weeks, Sam reasons. In his life, that's a pretty long time.

He pulls his muffin out of the toaster oven and pours himself a glass of orange juice. He goes to the living room and flicks on the TV. He sits down and bites into the warm, chocolatey gooeyness of his muffin and takes a big gulp of juice. He sighs contentedly and sinks back into the sofa. It's still only six o'clock in morning, when he finally decides to check the time. There's hours for him to laze around and enjoy some time to himself. When Dean wakes up, he knows he'll have to kiss his peace goodbye. He'll enjoy it while he can.

Admittedly, two hours in front of the TV probably isn't the best way to exercise some rarely-had alone time. It doesn't actually occur to him, all the things he could've been doing until it's too late. It isn't until he's watching the opening theme of his third episode of Baywatch that he realizes what a waste of time it is. He only realizes it because, just as the opening credits are finishing, Dean slumps into the room, yawning loudly and shooting a critical gaze at the TV screen.

"Baywatch, Sammy," Dean snorts, "really?"

"Shut up, jerk," Sam grumbles, picking up the remote and turning the TV off and standing up to follow Dena to the kitchen.

"No, I get it," Dean says as he makes his way to the kitchen, Sam on his tail, "it's hard to resist all those bouncing breasts. I don't blame you, Sammy. You are only man, afterall. Well...almost."

"Seriously, Dean, shut up," Sam humphs with no real heat behind the words.

"You doin' anything today, little brother?" Dean asks, putting on a pot of coffee.

"I'm going to coffee with Kandice around ten but, other than that, no." Dean's brow furrows at the mention of Kandice but he says nothing.

"Well, when you get back, I've got a list of chores for you to do," Dean informs, grinning at his brother.

"Why?" Sam asks, his voice inadvertently becoming whiny.

"Well, I won that bet, didn't I? I've hardly put it to use. I've been too easy on you. So when you get back, I'm going to utilize my newfound powers."

"Utilize? Have you been using 'word-of-the-day' toilet paper again?"

"Shut it, bitch," Dean gripes, smacking Sam lightly on the arm as he takes a seat at the kitchen table. Sam joins him, sitting across from him.

"Fine, I'll do your stupid chores. I don't have to wax the Impala again, do I?"

"If Baby needs a wax, she'll get a wax," Dean answers, smirking.

"Fine, whatever," Sam sighs, leaning back in his chair. Dean winks at him and, for a minute, Sam thinks that maybe he's gotten whatever wayward feelings he's had, under control.

The thought is optimistic and, as the day wears on, it becomes painfully obvious that control is the last thing he has over his feelings for Dean. He begins to notice, very quickly, that things haven't changed in his feelings for Dean at all. If anything, they're worse. The life-affirming need to be around Dean comes back with startling intensity. It mixes with his newly-found libido and it creates an awkward tension that has Dean shooting him questioning looks. Sam is stuck because he can't explain it away and he can't relax.

He stays in his room, reading his worn, kept books; ones he's read probably a hundred times. It's only two hours until he gets to leave to see Kandice but the minutes drag by. Even in the confines of his room, he can hear Dean shuffling around the house. The walls, the doors, the physical barriers...they aren't enough. Distance isn't enough. It's only when he can mentally escape that he feels the burden of his love lessen. Two hours, three walls, and all the love one can possibly fit into one person...it seems like an eternity that he sits in his room, reading the same page of _Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch_ over and over again.

In the end, when ten o'clock rolls around, he practically runs to the door. He makes to grab the keys to the Impala but just as he's about to close his fist around them, they're being snatched away. He whirls around to face Dean who's smirking at Sam, keys hanging off his index finger by their key ring. He furrows his eyebrows, and opens his mouth to complain but Dean cuts him off.

"Do you have money for gas?" Dean asks. Sam frowns and thinks about his stash...but he has strict rules about not spending that on commodities. He'd struggled enough, paying for dinner with Kandice.

"No but-" again, Dean cuts him off.

"Sorry kiddo," Dean says, "but we gotta makes ends meet and I can't pay for gas and groceries. You're gonna have to to take the old Chev-ro-legs, if you know what I mean."

"Dean, the coffee house is like a mile away," Sam complains, "and I told Kandice I'd pick her up."

"Tough," Dean says unforgivingly. "Call her back, tell her you'll be running a little late. Sorry baby brother, we gotta eat."

"Fine," Sam huffs walking back toward the kitchen to call Kandice back. He picks up the phone and dials her number.

They have a quick conversation in which Sam apologizes profusely and Kandice brushes him off, telling him that it's okay. He leaves the house, coffee date pushed to eleven instead. He's agreed to meet Kandice there. He walks fast, almost a jog and appreciates the physical exercise. It clears his head and he gets to focus on pushing air into his lungs and keeping a steady pace. It's, thankfully, not a hot day and the ocean breeze almost makes it chilly. He enjoys the wind in his hair, the steady rhythm of his feet hitting the ground.

10 minutes later, he walks into the coffee house. He spies Kandice sitting at a table near the back. He walks over to join her. When he gets closer, however, he notices something's wrong. Her eyes are red and glassy and there's a purple bruise on her left cheek. She's clearly been crying. Not expecting it, Sam stops dead in his tracks. It takes him a second to get into motion and walk over to her. He sits across from her and she gives him a watery smile, sniffling and wiping her nose.

"What happened?" Sam asks, reaching across the table to hold her hand.

"Nothing," she chokes, "just fell down."

The lie is so pitiful and transparent that Sam can't help but feel sorry for her. He's talked to a hundred victims, seen them try to hide behind the comfort of lies; whatever helps them live with what they've been through. He sees right through Kandice. Part of him doesn't want to push but part of him wonders if he should. She is crying, Sam reasons. Someone needs to talk to her about it.

"Your dad?" Sam asks, thinking of the tall man that had answered the door the night he picked her up for their date.

"Stepdad," Kandice corrects.

"What?"

"There are some things," she inhales sharply, "some things I haven't told you Sam."

"Like what?" Sam asks, squeezing her hand comfortingly.

"Th-that man you saw the night of our date. He's my stepdad and he...he be-beats my mom and I." Kandice barely gets the last part out before she's hiding her face in her hands, trying to keep from sobbing.

"Woah," Sam whispers, "sh, it's okay. How long has this been going on?"

"Four years," Kandice answers into her hands. She sniffles loudly and rubs at her face ferociously, causing her cheeks to become splotchy and red.

"Why are you...I mean why-uh," he stumbles with the words, not wanting to sound rude.

"Why am I telling you all this after only three weeks of knowing you? Full disclosure, I guess. No one wants something broken. You should know what you're getting into," she answers, breath hitching.

"Hey, I'm broken too," Sam argues. "We can be broken together."

She looks up at him through her lashes and smiles a small, tentative smile. Sam smiles back because he knows, god does he know, what it's like to be broken. He thinks of all the heartache, all the suffering and anger and pain...all the times he's just wanted to check out. He knows what it's like to feel like all the pieces of oneself are completely shattered, broken and unmendable. He tries to express that with a smile and a hand squeeze and it isn't enough. Nothing ever will be.

"So what happened with your stepdad?" He asks hesitantly, not wanting to seem too pushy. She sighs and look at him.

"Well, there's not much to say," she asserts. "He gets drunk sometimes and then I get too close or say something I shouldn't and become a target. Sometimes, I can avoid it or defuse the bomb. Others..." she points to the bruise on her cheek and sighs again.

"Yeah," Sam offers, unable to say anything of substance.

They sit in silence. For once, Sam doesn't feel the need to make small talk with her. They get their coffee and Sam sits back and looks at her. Her long red hair is pushed back from her face and she isn't wearing makeup. Her face looks a little swollen from the crying and her eyes look stretched and tired. Her lips are bitten and dry, little drops of coffee foam clinging to the upper. Even so, she still looks beautiful. Maybe Sam is bias but he doesn't think so. Kandice is just that pretty and it's crazy to him that someone, drunk or not, would ever want to hurt her.

They drink their coffee quietly. Kandice seems to be taking comfort in Sam's presence. Every so often, she'll nudge his foot with hers and shoots him a small grin. There's nothing to say, though, and Sam likes that. He likes that their silences are comfortable. It makes his feelings for Kandice seem more real. Not for the first time, he feels like he's known this girl for years. He's, up to this point, been blaming it on her similarities to Dean. But maybe it's simply because she's that kind of person; the kind of person that can capture hearts without trying.

She can't compete with Dean, he knows; not where Sam's heart is concerned. But it's nice to think that his feelings for her aren't completely fabricated and built upon his pre-existing feelings for Dean. She is beautiful; loud, abrasive, and kind of rude but beautiful...and possibly just as broken as he is. He examines her for a few moments, wondering what his life would be like if he were ever able to marry a girl like her. Maybe some day, he can.

"So, do you wanna get out of here?" Kandice suddenly asks. Sam looks at his still-half-full cup of coffee and shrugs.

"Sure why not? This is coffee is shitty anyway." She smiles and stands up and pulls him out of his seat.

They walk out into the early afternoon sunlight and Sam closes his eyes as ocean breeze floats through his hair. The pier city of Santa Monica is a quiet place this time of day. Besides the vendors, very few people are milling about. 11:30 on a Sunday morning, Sam guesses, is probably church-time for a lot of people. He appreciates the lack of a crowd, though, it's less noise and less stress. Sam's never been a fan of big crowds; bred into him, he supposes. With too many people, escape routes are compromised. It's one of the many military instincts that he has, inadvertently, syphoned off of his father over the years.

"It's nice day, huh?" Kandice asks from beside him as they walk. She twines their pinkies together and he smiles, genuinely.

"Yeah," he agrees, "what do you want to do with it?"

"Well," she hesitates, "I was actually thinking we could go to that hangout I showed you and Dean. Ya know, the cave? We could go and shoot the shit, get high."

"Um sure," he agrees.

"C'mon, then," she says, grabbing his hand.

The walk to the beach takes ten minutes, but the walk to the cave takes about thirty. When they finally get to the sectioned off part of the beach, they have to make the somewhat treacherous trek to the cave. When they get there, the cave floor is more flooded than before. The water comes up to his calves and to Kandice's knees. She wades through the water to the back where the water is shallower and there are a few flat-ish rocks sticking out.

Kandice goes to sit down on one and Sam follows suit. She pulls from her purse, a small pipe and a plastic baggy. Just like the first time, she opens the bag and pulls some the green leaves out. She breaks them up in the pipe and Sam look around the cave. It feels different with Dean not here. It's not as if he'd made a huge contribution to the conversation the first time but Sam still notices his absence. He shakes his head. He came here to get away from Dean.

She hands him the pipe and a lighter. He takes a hit and hands it back. Wiggling his toes, in the water, he lets the weed take effect. They're quiet together, again. Today isn't a day for talking, he guesses. She's stuck in her head about her stepdad, he thinks, and he's stuck in his head with...Dean. He takes another hit and closes his eyes, waiting for that feeling; that feeling of weightlessness...of not caring about anything anymore; of numbness.

Slowly but surely, it comes. Dean is still there, he always will be, but the emotions attached to him are replaced and remade. A small smile touches his lips. He tilts his head back and looks at the damp ceiling of the cave and has the strangest out-of-body experience; and he feels as if he's not here at all, as if he's beyond the cave walls, in ocean, in the clouds, somewhere far beyond the realms of reality.

And it's temporary; it's all temporary. In a few hours, sobriety will be back to remind him of all the things he's running from. But it's the, goddamn, greatest distraction in the world. So he lets it take him and flies away...a thousand miles above, in the clouds where nothing can touch him and his heart is forgotten...and he floats.


End file.
